6x00 Cold Heat
by jane0904
Summary: Following directly from S05 finale, Rick and Kate try to handle the outcome, while an old friend comes under attack. And where does military grade explosives come in? My usual multi-chapter hiatus story - read, enjoy, review! Now complete - just in time for the new season!
1. Chapter 1

Rick Castle woke up and lifted his head to look at the bedside clock. The red numerals said 3:17, and he had no reason to doubt them. Less than an hour since he'd looked before.

He rolled onto his back and tossed his arm above him, his sigh almost making the headboard vibrate.

This was ridiculous. Since he'd finally fallen into bed some time after midnight he'd managed about eighty minutes in total, and he knew it wasn't going to get any better until he was so exhausted his body took over and he would have no say in the matter. So no point in just lying there.

Swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up he stayed still for a moment, thinking back as he had every moment since he'd asked Kate Beckett to marry him.

_"This isn't what you want! It's what you think __**I**__ want. It's what you think you have to do to keep me here."_

He got up, barely glancing at her … at the empty side of the bed, before grabbing his dressing gown and shrugging into it. It was automatic to push his feet into his slippers as he walked into the living room, but once he was there he stopped, unsure what to do next. He felt … lost.

_"It isn't that. I love you, Kate. I want us to be together. Always."_

_"And you wait 'til now to ask?"_

The apartment felt empty and cold. Which was ridiculous because it was May, the temperature was kept at a steady 70, and his mother was asleep upstairs. At least he assumed she was. She'd been waiting for him when he finally got home, but he'd done little except kiss her on the cheek before heading to bed. And look how _that_ turned out.

_"Does it matter what the timing is?"_

_"Yes! Of course it does!"_

_"So if I'd asked you this time last week your answer would be different?"_

_"Except you didn't. You've asked me after you know I'm going to DC."_

He wandered into the kitchen, automatically feeling the coffee jug. Still hot. His mother must have brewed it for him before she retired for the night. He smiled slightly – in some respects she knew him far too well for comfort, and in others … he made a mental note to thank her in the morning as he poured some into the mug that proclaimed he was a WRITER.

Only it was morning, at least technically, and the first day of the rest of his life.

God, how he hated that phrase.

_"You're going? Still?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Even after I –"_

_"Castle, stop. This isn't about you. This is about me. What __**I**__ need to do. What I __**have**__ to do."_

_"And us? You really think we're going to survive long distance?"_

_"I …"_

He wandered into his study and sat down at his desk, the coffee untouched in front of him, and woke up his computer. A year ago he'd deleted all the files about Johanna Beckett's murder, thinking he'd never see Kate again. Then she'd turned up on his doorstep, all wet and bedraggled and stunningly beautiful, and his life had changed. Now he wanted to keep that change, keep the frustrating, amazing, maddening, incredible … _infuriating_ woman in his life.

_"So you're saying no."_

_"I'm saying I don't know."_

_"Kate, there's only two answers to the question."_

_"I need time. And you don't really want to marry me, Rick. Twice bitten, third time shy, isn't that what you said?"_

_"I was wrong."_

_"So we've gone from not talking about the future to you wanting to marry me."_

_"It's how this works."_

_"I've been offered a tremendous opportunity. And if I don't take it I'd end up resenting the reasons I didn't."_

_"You mean resenting me."_

_"I didn't say that."_

_"Kate, I'm a writer. I know all about subtext."_

_"The point is, I don't want that to happen."_

_"Why does you taking this job have to preclude us getting married?"_

_"Because that's not just a ring. It's handcuffs, and we both know it."_

They'd talked for a long while, going back to her place because it was closer, and it was at that point that he realised she had never really been his. If she had she'd have moved in with him when he suggested it. Although he tried his best to talk her out of leaving, of coming to some sort of compromise, even saying he'd come with her, the heavy weight growing in the pit of his belly told him he'd only had loan of her, and he should have made the most of it while he could.

_"I'll be busy. There are a lot of courses, training, and not just in Washington. Then when I'm doing the job I could go anywhere at a moment's notice. You'd just be sitting at home waiting for me, and that's not fair. All your friends are here, your family … but it's not so far. You can come visit, I can come back here … we can still see each other."_

_"A long distance relationship."_

_"I have to do this, Rick. Please. Support me."_

"Richard?"

He looked up from the glow of the blank screen. His mother stood in the doorway, gazing at him. "Oh. Hi. Did I wake you?"

"No. I couldn't sleep. Are you okay?"

"Sure." He tried to smile, but his face didn't seem to be working properly. Instead his eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, honey." She hurried around to his side of the desk and he clung to her, crying silently into her robe as she held him, comforting him as she used to when the nightmares woke him as a child.

* * *

"This is a marvellous opportunity." Captain Gates regarded the woman standing in front of her desk. "From what I understand, the Federal Task Force has a remit to cover all areas."

"Yes, sir." Kate nodded.

"They even get to oversee some of the Homeland Security operations, which is quite a feat."

"Yes, sir. It's a challenge."

"And one I'm sure you'll live up to." Gates put down her glasses. "I'll be sorry to see you go, of course. The closure rate of the department is probably going to suffer."

Kate managed a smile. "I'm sure Detectives Ryan and Esposito will be able to manage."

"I'll have to bring someone in. To take your place."

Kate was surprised, and shocked at finding she was. She'd known they couldn't keep a senior detective post vacant, but the reality of someone taking her place made it seem more real somehow. "You didn't while I was recovering, sir."

"No. But this is permanent. Isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, sir, it is."

"Then I think new blood will be best. It would be difficult to make up either of your colleagues into lead detective, since they work so well together."

"I'll let them know."

Gates smiled. "No. I think I can manage that. But what about your … relationship with Mr Castle?"

"It's fine, sir."

"Really?"

"We're going to see how things go."

"I take it he's not happy."

"Not particularly."

"But you don't want to talk about it."

"We're fine, sir."

"You should, you know. Talk about it. To someone."

"Yes, sir."

Gates studied her, but only saw the stoicism she'd come to recognise. "They've requested your immediate transfer."

"Yes, sir. But if you need me to stay –"

"No, no. You've no outstanding cases at the moment, so this is perfect timing."

"The Garabaldi murder is still open."

"He's in holding, and I think Detective Esposito is more than capable of breaking him."

Kate glanced out into the bullpen where her colleagues were watching intently while trying to appear busy doing other things. "He is."

"Then you'd better clean out your desk."

"Yes."

Gates came around stand next to Kate, and unexpectedly held out her hand. "We'll miss you."

"I'll miss everyone here," Kate said, taking it and shaking.

"Then I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you." Kate started to leave the office but turned back when Gates spoke again.

"And Detective Beckett? Just to let you know, long distance relationships _can_ work. Mine did with my husband."

* * *

"I don't believe this." Javier Esposito was angry. "You're going."

"Yes." Kate placed her row of elephants carefully into the box.

"And you didn't bother to tell us."

"It was … I didn't know they were going to offer me the job, not until I got the phone call. And I'm telling you now."

"It _is_ very sudden," Kevin Ryan put in. "Don't you have to give notice?"

"When the government calls, it seems not." Her mug went in next, and she tried hard not to glance at the empty chair next to the desk.

"So when do you leave?"

"I fly tomorrow evening. There's an induction session starting on Monday, but I have to find somewhere to live."

"I don't believe this." Esposito ran both hands through his short hair.

"What about Castle?" Ryan wanted to know.

"Why does everyone want to know about him?" Kate shook her head in faint exasperation. "This isn't about him."

"Of course it is." Ryan gestured towards the chair. "You're a couple. Is he going with you?"

"No."

"Why not? He can work anywhere. Have laptop, will travel, right?"

"Alexis is at Columbia, Martha has her acting school … his life's here." She wondered if she'd ever stop feeling like she was trying to justify making him stay.

"So's yours. What about your Dad?"

She gave a half-smile. "Washington isn't that far."

"And when you're the other side of the country?" Esposito blurted out.

She looked from one to the other. They were honestly concerned for her, and she felt touched. "Guys, it's … complicated."

"I can't believe you actually said that." Ryan shook his head.

"Did he do something?" Esposito wanted to know. "Because if he did –"

"No. He didn't." _Except ask me to marry him_.

Ryan signalled his partner to calm down then turned back. "Then why are you going?"

"I can't be a homicide detective all my life."

"Why not?"

"Don't you have any ambition?" Kate asked in turn. "Anything you're aiming for?"

"Jenny wants me to be Commissioner. But that's a long way off. And all this … the Task Force, leaving … it's all happened very quickly."

Esposito was nodding. "Have you actually thought this through?"

"I haven't stopped thinking this through, but if I don't take this opportunity –"

"You'll still keep putting the bad guys behind bars," Ryan finished for her.

A memory of her saying something very similar a long time ago to Castle assaulted her, and she had to swallow before responding. "I'll still be hunting bad guys. Just maybe bigger."

"And who speaks for the victims? The little people? What about them?"

Now it was Montgomery in ear, but the Captain had been dead two years. "You do. You're good."

"You're better."

She went back to packing her box. "This is what I want to do." She pretended not to see the look that passed between her two friends.

* * *

"You wanted to force the issue, you did it." Lanie Parish poured the last of the bottle of red wine into their glasses.

"I just didn't expect … _that._" Kate swallowed a mouthful without tasting it.

"You wanted to know where the relationship was going."

"I know, but a marriage proposal?"

"To which you said no."

"Of course I did."

"Why?"

Kate was about to give the same answer she'd given Rick, but stopped herself. Lanie wouldn't accept anything less than the truth, any more than he'd done, and she'd know a lie. "I don't know," she admitted.

"Well, that's honest, at least." Lanie sat back on her couch. "And if he'd asked before? Before that case, before the job offer?"

"He didn't."

"Humour me. Play _what if_. What would have been your answer?"

"I …"

"Tell the truth."

Kate licked lips. "I'd probably have said yes."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why would you have said yes?"

"Because I love him."

"So has something changed? Have you stopped?"

"No. Of course not."

"And he still loves you."

"Obviously."

"Then all we're talking about is timing?"

"No. Yes. Lanie, it's –"

"You say it's complicated and I'm gonna smack you, girl."

"But it is. He didn't ask before. He only asked when he thought he was going to lose me."

"And that's not a good enough reason?"

"No. It's not."

Lanie sighed. "You two are your own worst enemies, you know that?"

Kate did the same. "I know."

"So you think he doesn't love you enough to really want to marry you, just to keep you."

"I … no … that's not …"

"Because if you think that you're a fool. You didn't see the way he was when you got shot, or the wonder on his face when he watches you, when you're not looking. That man loves you so bad."

"I know, but –"

"Why does there have to be a _but_? Kate, why can't you just accept it?"

_Because I'm not worthy of it._ It's what she hadn't said to her dad when he'd asked her why she always broke off her relationships when they showed signs of getting serious. It was why she woke up sweating sometimes in the night, her heart pounding. She knew she'd never be worthy of the kind of love her father had had for her mother. Or the love she suspected Rick had for her.

"Because –" What she might have said was lost as someone knocked at the door, loudly enough to rattle the hinges.

"You stay there," Lanie said pointedly, getting to her feet. "I'll send whoever it is off with a flea in his ear, then we're going to get down to the nitty gritty."

"Oh, good."

Lanie smiled and walked into the small hallway to open her front door. "Do you have any idea what … oh, it's you."

"Yes." Rick licked suddenly dry lips. "Is she here?"

"Why would you think she is?"

"Because her phone's turned off and she's not at home."

Lanie narrowed her eyes at him. "You've been spending too long playing detective."

"Lanie, please."

Her glare should have wilted him on the spot, but he didn't move.

"Yes, she's here. I'm not sure she wants to talk to you, though."

"Lanie, who …" Kate had come into the hall. "Oh."

"Hi." Rick gave an uncertain smile.

"Hi."

"Can we talk?"

"I thought we had."

"Kate, I've spent the last twenty odd hours doing nothing but think about us. Please."

Lanie lifted an eyebrow at her friend, then shrugged as Kate nodded briefly. "Well, it's your funeral." She turned back to Rick. "Come on in. But wipe your feet and take off your coat – I don't want my apartment getting dirty."

"It's raining," Rick said inconsequentially, doing as he was told and hanging his overcoat on the stand. He ran his hands through his hair to take out the worst.

"And there I was thinking you'd taken a shower with all your clothes on," Lanie said drily.

Kate dropped her head to hide her smile, then walked back into the living room. Rick followed, Lanie a pace behind.

"Kate …" Now he was here, facing her, he was suddenly tongue-tied.

Kate looked at Lanie. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

"You sure you don't want me to hang around?"

Kate shook her head, not taking her eyes off Rick. "No. We're good."

"Well, I'm not going far. You want me, I'm in the kitchen. And I know a dozen ways to kill a man without leaving a trace." Lanie gave Rick another of her patented glares and stalked out of the room.

Kate and Rick faced each other, close enough to touch but with what seemed like a huge gulf between them.

He spoke first. "I couldn't leave it the way we did."

"What, you walking out saying you needed to think?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you?"

"Honestly?"

"Please."

"I felt betrayed."

"Betrayed? You thought I was going to say yes to your proposal, fall into your arms and give up all my ambitions."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"Then how would you put it?"

He took half a step closer. "Kate, I don't want to do this again. Go over and over it, like last night."

"Neither do I. But you should be happy for me. I've found something I want to do, something that's going to fulfil me. If you love me –"

"If?"

"Okay, I'm sorry. But you should be supportive."

"I know." He heaved such a sigh that it seemed to come from the roots of his soul.

"Then why aren't you?"

"Because I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Losing you. You're right. Maybe the ring was metaphorical handcuffs. But I … This year has been amazing. Apart from the broken kneecap." He saw her smile slightly." "But I'm scared you'll find working for the Federal Task Force enough."

Looking into his blue eyes she could see the worry etched in them. "It doesn't change how we feel about each other."

"Doesn't it?"

"Not unless you let it." She reached up and touched his face. "I wouldn't ask you to give up being a writer, because that's who you are. And this is who I am."

"The law. If you're dissatisfied, why don't you go back to becoming a lawyer? You could end up an Appellate Judge."

"That's still an option. But right now, this is what I want to do."

He gazed at her, studying the planes of her face, trying to see into her, to read the truth. Finally he sighed again. "You're right. Of course you're right. And what I said before goes. Whatever you want. However you want it." He fingered the box in his pocket. "The proposal still stands, by the way."

"I wouldn't want it otherwise."

"Then let me come with you."

"No. No, that's … I have to concentrate on this. At least for a while. And you'd be a distraction."

"A good distraction or a bad distraction?" He ran his fingertips up and down the open front of her blouse.

"One that I would enjoy too much at the moment." She put her hand on his, pressing it to her. "You know me. I have to put everything into it, and I'm afraid there wouldn't be anything left for you at the end of the day."

"I could make you dinner each night."

"And watch it go cold because I'd been sent halfway across the country." Kate shook her head. "Be here. Work on your book, spend time with Martha and Alexis. And we'll see."

It was a compromise, and they both knew it, but they also knew neither wanted the relationship to end.

"I'll be grouchy."

"So what else is new?"

"I'll have you know I have a lovely temper."

She laughed, pulling him closer. "You're also stubborn, pig-headed, annoying –"

"And ruggedly handsome. Don't forget ruggedly handsome."

"As if I would."

They kissed, softly at first, then with more passion.

"My place?" he suggested as they came up for air.

"Mine. I still have to pack."

He nodded, the small lines of tension reappearing at the corners of his eyes, but he smiled over them. "I'll help."

She was about to say something along the lines of she'd end up in DC with all her Nebula 9 costumes and no underwear, but stopped. He needed this. "Okay." She smiled. "After."

His grin was natural, unforced, as he pulled her to him again.

* * *

In the dark, empty warehouse the man in the grey sweatshirt was peering into a crate, moving stuff around.

"You might wanna be a bit more careful," his companion said, arms crossed, looking relaxed. "I don't fancy ending up a smear on the landscape." He chuckled.

"You sure this is good stuff?"

"Newest formulation. Half a kilo'd take out this building."

"And the detonators?"

"Timer, motion sensitive, cellphone activated … whatever you want."

"And nobody's going to notice it's gone?"

"Well, that's not your problem, is it?" His slow drawl made it sound like he was discussing the latest country and western hit, not methods of mass destruction.

"Fine." The man in the sweatshirt handed over a small case.

"Do I have to count it?"

"Do you want to leave here alive?"

"If you want to keep the line of supply open. Oh, and my pal'd take your head off with one shot if you tried."

Sweatshirt-guy tried to peer out into the sunshine, but there was no movement, nothing to indicate a sniper had him in crosshairs. Nothing except the certainty crawling up his spine. "And if I need more?"

"You know the number to call." He touched his cap in a sort of salute then sauntered out into the sunshine, his fatigues standing out only until he climbed into the cab of the truck. In a moment he'd started the engine and driven out of sight.

Only then did the man in the sweatshirt take a breath, and a cold smile filtered across his face.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a long eight weeks. There'd been phone calls, often late at night when Kate had finished for the day, and they'd lie in their respective beds, just chatting about nothing at all. Neither of them seemed to want to get into the kind of conversation that might make them take a hard look at their relationship, so they talked about how his day had gone, how many chapters he'd managed (if any), what Alexis was getting up to in in the jungle, whether Martha was going to tempt fate and do another summer stock this year … normal, everyday exchanges. He made her laugh, and whispered sweet words in the dark, while he could pretend she was lying next to him, and all he had to do was reach out to hold her …

They couldn't talk about what she'd been doing, of course, except that it seemed to involve a lot more studying than she'd been anticipating. He'd commented that she should have taken his collected works with her, just for light relief. The slight pause before her snort of derision made him smile, and he teased her for five minutes about how she must have them downloaded on her phone.

And if, in the morning, he woke up feeling like part of himself was missing, well, he didn't mind. Because the eight weeks were up and she was coming home.

As he swept a final eye over the apartment, making sure everything was in its place, all the way down to the champagne cooling in the bucket with the two flutes standing ready, the roses in the vase on the table with the impractically large bow tied around them, he felt like he was on a first date. He was even dressed to impress, in a new suit, new shirt. He'd considered a tie, but in a hurried Skype with Alexis she'd persuaded him that was a step too far, and just to relax.

Right, like that was going to happen.

His mother had been unusually tactful too, stating that she had plans for the weekend, and if he didn't mind she wasn't going to be around to see Kate, and just to pass on her love.

He didn't believe a word of it, and kissed her cheek as she left.

For the last half hour, of course, he'd been clock watching, having already checked that the 9.45 am flight landed on time, that the car he'd sent to the airport had picked her up okay (and she'd argued about _that_), and as he arranged the cushions on the couch for the seventeenth time there was a soft knock at the door.

He straightened up, and took a deep breath. No time left to go and brush his teeth again, so instead he went to let her in.

* * *

It had been a short eight weeks, every day crammed with studying, training sessions, psychological exams and interrogation techniques. Some of it was familiar ground, based on her training and experience as a police officer, but some seemed to go against her instincts, and she'd had to work hard at it.

She'd qualified easily on the hand pistol, but now knew more than she wanted to about a range of other guns, the new developments in lightweight plastic weaponry, and had even had an intensive week on explosives. She didn't think she could defuse a bomb, but she'd have an idea of what it would look like and how far to run.

By the time she fell into bed, she was exhausted most nights.

Her training officer, one Thomas Barclay, had explained it as: "We need to get you up to speed quickly. You've got a lot of skills, a lot of talent to catch killers, but we're not just in it for that. We have to look at the big picture. Your remit was the city of New York. Now it's a whole lot bigger."

"Why the rush?"

"We're a small unit, and that's how we're likely to stay. You'll mostly work alone, so you have to be able to be totally self-reliant. You're going to be in situations where it's just you against a hostile force, and what you do – or don't do – will be your decision."

She thought it made her sound like a spy, and said so.

Barclay had laughed. "In a way. You're there to weed out the undesirables, those with plans against the stability of the country, and there are going to be times when you work outside of the normal parameters of the law."

"Outside?"

"We get the job done. Whatever the cost. Remember that."

She'd felt an odd wave of something run down her spine at the thought of not being bound by the rules. "Doesn't that make us as bad as them?"

"You're not a homicide detective anymore. Out here in the real world, everything's just shades of grey."

"And the rush?"

"As a small team we're less likely to have rogue agents," he'd said bluntly. "With the kind of work we do, it would be all too easy for someone to be tempted, and this way we all know each other and can keep an eye out for anything untoward."

She'd nodded and gone back to beating the hell out of a punchbag, contemplating a working life of only being answerable to the Attorney General's office.

She knew she was fitter than she'd ever been. Any lingering adhesions from the bullet that had almost killed her had been broken down, and she knew the lengthy combat and exercise sessions had given her already toned body more definition. She wondered what Castle would make of her lean musculature.

The late night calls were the one normality in the multitude of odd days. So far she hadn't had the time to find somewhere to live, so was still in a hotel, existing out of her suitcases. Not that she got to spend much time there, beyond falling into bed and pressing the speed dial on her phone.

Eight weeks of chit chat, sometimes lasting only five minutes, while on one occasion she'd been shocked to look at the clock and realise they'd been talking for nearly two hours. If someone had interrogated _her_ she'd be hard pressed to say what they'd been discussing, but the one thing she did remember was the laughter: he always made sure he got her to laugh, at least once, usually at himself. If she'd been lying next to him she'd have kissed him for that.

Now, though, she was a member of the Federal Task Force, although technically still on probation. It would be six months before they considered her a fully-fledged agent, less if she proved herself, but her boss had told her to take a few days break before starting her first assignment. It hadn't occurred to her not to go back to New York, although the limousine Castle had sent to the airport to pick her up had been a trifle excessive. She'd finally given in only after making him promise not to hire a private jet.

Eduardo smiled and waved at her as she walked through the lobby, and she pulled her fingers through her hair to look as respectable as possible as she rode up in the elevator.

Tugging her small wheeled suitcase along the short corridor she paused outside the door to the loft, an odd combination of apprehension and anticipation sweeping through her. What if he'd changed? What if the changes in her made him act differently? What if …

"Come on, Katie," she said to herself, imagining her mother's look, the same one she'd used when at eight years old Kate announced she couldn't rollerskate and didn't want to try anymore. That look made her pick herself up and have another go, and now had her raising her hand to knock softly at the door.

After only a moment it opened, and he stood there, looking freshly washed and polished.

He didn't quite smile. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Forget your key?"

"I thought I'd better knock."

He nodded slowly. "Good flight?"

"Fine. Do I have you to thank for the upgrade?"

"It's the least I could do."

They gazed at each other.

"Can I come in?" she asked eventually.

"Oh, yes, of course." He stood to one side, letting her pass him, and for a moment she thought she heard him breathe in deeply as she walked by.

She looked around. Nothing had changed, of course, and she berated herself internally for thinking that it might have. Except perhaps for the champagne and roses by the couch, and the restrained nature of his welcome.

Turning to look at him, she asked, "So, how have you been?"

He stopped a good nine feet away. "Good, good. You?"

"Busy."

"Of course." He nodded again, like one of those dogs in the backs of cars. "Your apartment's okay, by the way. I've dropped by once a week, aired the place out. Your mail's over on the counter."

"Thanks. Anything important?"

"Not really, only the stuff I forwarded on. I paid the bills."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. Anyway, I wanted to."

"You need to tell me how much and I'll pay you back."

"You don't need to."

She was about to retort in turn that yes, she did, but instead said abruptly, "Is this it? Are we going to act like we're on a first date?"

"Not sure," he admitted, but a slow smile creased his lips.

"I've seen you naked."

"Me too. Seen you naked, I mean."

"And it's been eight weeks."

"Eight long, lonely …" He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence since she'd closed the gap between them and fastened her lips on his.

In a moment his hands were in her hair, hers on his back, pushing his jacket up to pull his shirt from his pants so she could get to flesh.

"And I was going to hold out," Rick mumbled into her mouth.

* * *

They didn't make it to the bedroom, at least not the first time, making out on the couch like teenagers. Only after did he take her by the hand and they walked naked through the apartment, ending up rolled together on the bed.

"Sleepy?" she asked, her chin on his chest.

"Oddly enough, no," he admitted. "Actually I feel more awake than I have done in eight weeks." He pushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. "Something to do with the company, I guess."

"No young lovelies been making their way through the door?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"No air hostesses, actresses or book editors?" she teased.

"Nary a one."

"So what have you been doing with yourself?"

"Writing. Missing you. Although not necessarily in that order."

"Writing? Don't you mean procrastinating?"

"Yes, but the ointment cleared that right up." He flinched. "Ow. And I would just like to point out that I _don't_ miss being beaten up by you."

"Yes, you do." She kissed the spot she'd just pinched.

"Yes, I do. You know, I was also scouring the internet looking at apartments in DC. Some of them are actually quite nice."

"Castle …"

"Big enough for two, with room for Alexis to come and stay. My mother can sleep on the couch."

"Rick, stop."

"I can write anywhere. And my family includes you now. Kate, these last eight weeks have been … actually, pretty miserable."

"Even with murders to solve?"

"No murders. No cases."

"You said no?"

"They didn't ask." He managed a respectable pout.

"You're still a consultant."

"Who worked with you. Besides, Captain Gates put her foot down."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I really didn't feel like taking it to the Mayor, not if you weren't there."

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Will it work?"

_Maybe, _she thought but didn't say. "It's not like you still needed to do research, anyway."

"Technically. I mean, you're right, I have enough for a dozen Nikki Heat novels. But do I have Nikki headhunted by Washington big cats?" He pondered. "If I did I suppose I could call it DC Heat."

"No, you couldn't."

"The biggest question is, of course, whether she would let Jameson go with her."

"He might not want to."

Rick looked down, his blue eyes intense. "Oh, he does."

"Well, Nikki would probably tell him not to. At least, not yet. Not until she was sure."

"And isn't she?" Rick leapt on her words.

"If it's what she wants to do." She stopped, biting her lip, but he was damn good at subtext.

"You think it was a mistake?" If he'd sounded less like a hopeful puppy she might have jumped down his throat.

Instead she took a breath, then said, very slowly. "I don't think so. There are things, ramifications I'm not sure about, but I don't think I have enough to say one way or the other at the moment. And I can't say how much of all of this is the fact that I'm missing you."

"I'm right here, Kate."

"I know." She touched his mouth with her fingertips. "And I'm not used to it."

"Me being here? Where have you been for the last –"

"No. I mean missing someone quite so much."

He tightened his embrace. "It's okay to say you were wrong."

"I'm not."

"Yet."

"It's still something I want to do."

"But. Kate, there's a huge, pulsing, neon-lit _but_ hanging over that sentence."

"Well, I've not been pigging out in the last eight weeks. Maybe yours is the butt we need to –"

He pinched her and made her yelp. "You need a damn good meal inside you, I know that."

"I'm healthy, Castle. Something you could do with thinking about once in a while."

"And spoil my ruggedly handsome looks?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"You're not getting any younger …"

He growled and rolled on top of her, and for a long while there was no normal conversation.

* * *

"Champagne?" he asked eventually, swinging his legs off the bed and looking back at her.

"At this time of day?" She looked at the clock – it had somehow got to be mid-afternoon.

"I need something stimulating."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not enough?"

"More than enough." He grinned. "But I need fuel for the next round."

"Maybe I want to sleep."

"Do you?"

"Well, no." She laughed. "But not champagne."

"Coffee? Warm croissants? I've got some of that strawberry preserve you like, from the place we stayed at outside Boston."

Her mouth watered slightly. "Actually, that sounds perfect."

"You stay there," he said, standing and giving her the perfect view of his naked body as he walked to the door.

"Aren't you going to put a robe on?"

"Nah. I feel exhibitionistic."

"And if someone in the building opposite has binoculars? Or a telephoto lens?"

He paused, obviously considering his options. "Good point," he conceded, picking his striped dressing gown up from the chair and slipping it on. "I don't really want to be on Twitter again." He grinned. "Be right back."

He walked out whistling, and she smiled. Damn, but she had missed this. It was almost as if the last few weeks had never happened, as if she'd never met that FTF agent, hadn't felt the stirrings of wanderlust, hadn't had a proposal of marriage.

Come to think of it … She got up slowly, stretching, then padded across to where his jacket lay on the chair, reaching out to check his pocket. She was right – she had felt the ring box when she hugged him. She sighed and pulled it out, hurrying back to bed and sitting down. She snapped it quietly open and lifted the diamond solitaire out. Rolling onto her back she examined it, holding it up to the light. It _was _nice, no doubt about that. Nobody could accuse Castle of not having good taste, at least where jewellery was concerned.

Listening to hear if he was likely to come in and catch her, she slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, too. She held out her hand to admire the way the light caught in the facets just as Rick's cellphone on the nightstand chirped at her.

She smiled when she saw who was calling, and quickly thumbed answer.

A familiar voice didn't even let her speak, saying immediately, "Buddy, you need to get down here. Now."

"Hey, Kevin, it's me."

"Beckett?" The Irish cop couldn't have sounded more surprised. "What … why are you answering Castle's phone?"

"I'm visiting. What's up?"

"We're … there's a body." The surprise had turned back to urgent concern.

"Castle said he wasn't working murders anymore."

"No, he's not. This is … personal."

A frisson of something cold ran down her spine, and she sat up slowly. "Tell me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Just to let you know, in case you had got an email previously announcing a third chapter had been uploaded, it hadn't. _This _is chapter three! Chapter two ended with Kate getting a call from Ryan about a body ... now read on ...

* * *

She hadn't told him, couldn't, not yet. All he knew was that she asked him to take her to Central Park, down by the lake. So he was surprised when they pulled up at a line of police cars, an area already cordoned off with crime scene tape.

"Kate, what are we doing here?"

She didn't speak, just climbed out and stalked towards the barrier. He had to follow.

A familiar uniformed officer was on crowd control, holding back the growing number of onlookers.

"Officer Hastings," Kate acknowledged. "Can we …"

"They're waiting." The young woman lifted the tape so they could duck underneath.

"Thanks." She walked on, her normal long stride meaning Rick had to hurry to catch up.

"Is there a body?" he asked, feeling something of the old excitement warm his bones. "Only you're not a cop anymore, and I don't work cases." When she acted as if she hadn't heard him, he gave her an odd look but continued in her wake.

As they approached the lake he could see Ryan and Esposito amongst a small group of people, probably other police officers and forensic experts, and Lanie Parish was crouched down by something on the water's edge. No. Some _one_.

Ryan's voice filtered towards them. "… been left here to be found. Nobody would dump a body here and expect it to stay hidden."

Esposito went to agree then saw Kate and Rick. "Hey," he said quietly. "You tell him?"

Kate shook her head. "No. You might be wrong."

"Tell me what?" Rick wanted to know, but they ignored him.

"I wish we were. No wallet or personal items, apart from this." He held out an evidence bag.

"Guys, tell me what?" Rick pushed forward, then stopped, getting a good view of what was in the bag. "That's Maggie's."

Kate examined the necklace, a solid block of amber sitting in an intricate silver mount, the chain broken, end links twisted and warped.

"It would have gone to the bottom of the lake but it caught on her blouse," Esposito went on.

"Are you sure it's Maggie's?" Kate asked, looking at Rick.

"Of course I'm sure. I had it made for her, back in college. It's her favourite." With an almost audible snap the situation came into focus. "No."

"Castle … Rick …" Kate knew she should say something but couldn't find the words.

"No. That isn't … she's in Europe. Book tour. I'm sure she's not due back for …" He swallowed hard, trying to breathe past the sudden constriction in his throat.

"Bro …" Esposito started to say something, but Rick had pushed him out of the way, running towards the lake edge. He staggered to a halt.

Lanie looked up at him. "Rick, I –"

"Is it her?" He stared down at the shrouded body, covered by a sheet to give it some privacy and to try to stop it being uploaded to a hundred websites. "Is it?"

Lanie glanced at Kate, who nodded, just once, giving tacit permission to break his heart. "Oh, sweetie. I am so sorry." She lifted the edge of the sheet away.

Despite the heat of the afternoon his blood turned cold, and his knees threatened to give way. Kate was instantly at his side, her arm around him.

"It's not her," he said quietly, whispering, wanting the words to make it true. "It can't be her. Not Mags."

He stared at the face below him, the normally spiky black hair now sodden and plastered to her scalp, her green eyes slightly open but with no animation in them. He desperately wanted her to sit up and say enough was enough, that a joke was a joke but this had gone too far, and why was he acting like she was dead? Except she was.

"Castle?" Ryan moved closer, his notebook in his hand. "Can you formally identify her?"

Rick swallowed again. "I … no. Yes. That's Maggie." He felt tears forming, running down his cheeks.

"For the record," Ryan prompted.

"Ah … Alexis Jayne Maguire. Or Congreve, I guess."

A J Maguire, best-selling author of thrillers and mysteries, and one of his oldest, dearest friends. Maggie. His Mags.

"Have you got James's number?"

"I … yes." His mind wouldn't work, and he fumbled as he tugged his phone from his pocket. It fell to the ground.

"I'll get it," Ryan said, scooping it up and stepping away.

"How … how did she …" Rick tried to get the words out.

"Castle, don't." Kate was still there, still at his side.

"I have to know."

"Okay. Lanie?"

The ME looked pretty upset herself as she said, "It looks like she was shot. Two in the back."

"When?" Rick asked, his voice barely audible.

"I don't know yet. Not for sure. Not until …" She stopped, not wanting him to think about the autopsy she had to perform. "Preliminary investigations suggest some time very early this morning. Probably around 2 am."

When everyone decent was tucked up in bed, when Maggie should have been sleeping instead of dying, maybe terrified, in agony, and he wasn't there. Everything seemed to recede, the indecently lovely surroundings, the birds chirping in the trees, the sound of children playing very close becoming grey and blurry.

"From the angle it would have been pretty much instantaneous," he vaguely heard Lanie add, but he didn't take it in. He couldn't stay there, pulling away from Kate and stumbling back towards the car. He didn't remember the tape being lifted again, or pushing through the growing crowd, nothing until he was leaning on the roof, trying to get air into his lungs.

"I'm so sorry, Rick." Kate put her arms around him, and he turned to hold on to her, his body shaking.

"I can't … not Maggie."

"They'll figure it out." She could feel his heart beating almost too fast to count. "Come on. I'll take you home."

"No." He took a deep breath. "Maggie's place."

"We can't. It might be a crime scene."

"I have to. I promised."

She leaned back enough so she could look into his face, her heart going out to him in his distress. "Promised what?"

"There's a box. Things she wouldn't … things I promised I'd get rid of if anything … happened to her."

"They could be evidence."

"Letters. Some photos. Things she doesn't want anyone to see." He stared desperately into Kate's eyes. "Please."

She wanted to smooth out the lines on his face, take away the pain. "Well, technically I'm not a cop anymore."

He took her words as they were meant. "Thank you."

"Just the box, though. And if there's something in it that's relevant …"

"Of course." He let go and went to climb into the driver's seat.

"No," she said quickly. "You're in no fit state. I'll drive."

It showed his mental anguish that he didn't argue, just handed the keys over.

* * *

Kate pulled into the almost empty parking area below the apartment block.

"That's Maggie's car." Rick pointed to a newish pale blue Prius.

"So she was here." She parked as far away as possible. At his look she went on, "In case, Rick. We don't know what happened where yet."

His lips lifted, just a little, at the use of 'we', but he knew it was just habit. "I understand."

They got out, and Kate couldn't stop herself heading carefully for the car, her eyes ranging across the concrete, seeing any number of tyre prints in the accumulated oil and dirt, but nothing conclusive. Then she stopped two paces from the Prius. "Castle."

"What?" He'd followed.

She pointed at darker stains on the car door, and a pool of something still glistening on the ground. "Looks like blood."

"Do you think this is where …"

"Could be. CSU will want to check it out." She took out her cell but Rick pushed it down.

"After."

"It's a potential crime scene, Castle."

"Just give me a few minutes upstairs. Those letters …"

"They can't be that important."

"They were to Maggie."

It was rare to see him so intense, so focused, so anxious for the right answer, the last time being eight weeks before when he proposed, but before that … "Okay. Two minutes. And if the police arrive while we're technically breaking and entering, you pay the bail."

"We don't have to break anything." He held up his keys. "Maggie gave me a copy, just in case."

* * *

They rode up in the elevator to the top floor, to the apartment Maggie and James had bought just before they got married, before James had been offered the very lucrative post at the newly opened California Academy of the Arts in Los Angeles. There had been long evenings of discussions, at least according to Maggie, when they talked about selling it again, but eventually they'd agreed to keep it as a base. After all, as Maggie said, her publishers were in New York, and as happy as she was to follow James wherever he worked, it would be good to have a base in the city for when she had to come back for meetings.

"You said Maggie was in Europe?" Kate asked as they stood listening to canned muzak.

"Yes." Rick licked his dry lips. "A book tour. For _In Perfect Faith_. Five weeks, doing book signings in stores, chat shows, radio, stuff like that. Not that she needs to promote it – it's already a best-seller." He was just talking, filling the space, and knew it, so he just added, "Why?"

"I was only wondering why she didn't go home to Los Angeles. Why come here."

The doors opened and they stepped into the hallway.

Rick actually looked a little ashamed. "She and James are … were having problems."

Kate stared at him. "Really?"

"Don't look at me like that. He's not a suspect."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

"No, I –"

"And maybe it wasn't problems, so much as a lot of arguing. He … uh …"

Suddenly she understood why he was being defensive. "He felt like he was second choice?"

"I can't help how Maggie feels." He swallowed. "Felt."

"She loved him."

"I know."

They stopped outside an unmarked door. Rick got out his keys, but his hands were visibly shaking. Kate took them gently from him. "Let me."

"Thanks."

Taking care not to touch the door itself, she studied the lock for a moment, but there was no sign of scratching, nor evidence that it had been forced. She wasn't likely to be disturbing anything important, so inserted the key and turned it easily. Using her elbow so as not to add her own fingerprints, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, Rick following.

They were immediately inside a very large living area, big windows along one wall letting in the early evening sunshine. It was clean, but not particularly neat, not with books strewn over most surfaces, a coffee mug forgotten by the sink, dead mail piled haphazardly on a side table.

"She left it like this?"

Rick shrugged. "She doesn't see it," he admitted, then realised he'd spoken of her again in the present tense. No, he decided. He wasn't going to start changing it, not yet – if he didn't say 'was' or 'had' instead of 'is' or 'does' then maybe Maggie wasn't dead. Not yet. "She hasn't changed since college – even then I had to make her help me tidy up the place we rented."

"That must have irked you."

"I like that word. Irked." He sketched a smile. "But that's Maggie. To her it wasn't important – there are other things to get worked up about, not whether old newspapers have been put out for recycling."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. You've got two minutes. Where's this box?"

"Over there." He pointed to a large oak sea chest under one of the windows, brass-bound but with half a dozen fancy cushions carelessly arranged on top.

"Then get it and we'll get out. And don't touch anything else."

He took a handkerchief from his pocket. "I won't," he promised, but didn't get any further.

A noise, a movement in the far corner of the living area had them both freezing, Kate going for a gun that was no longer there. Then Rick turned as white as a sheet as a figure dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Hey," Alexis Jayne Maguire, aka Maggie, said, rubbing her hands through her short dark hair and yawning wildly. "What's going on?"

* * *

"Are you sure that's enough?" The sweatshirt this time was navy, but it was the same man. Even though the evening was still warm, he didn't seem to be perspiring. "It needs to be big."

"Is enough." His small companion, only a little over five feet, shrugged. "Any more and will take out buildings too." His accent marked him out as Eastern European, probably Russian. "You want body parts, yes?"

"But not big enough to identify easily."

"Then you let me do job." Finally satisfied with his placement of the small device, he closed the hood of the car. "Now we step away." He headed towards the brick office of the abandoned scrapyard, but didn't go inside, instead walking around to the rear.

The other man followed. "How long will it take you to place them?"

"Is same make? Same year?"

"Exactly the same model."

"Then only a moment. Pop the hood, inside, and gone."

"And the timer?"

"Ready to go on one, the other activated personally." He held a cellphone. "All have to do is hit send." He grinned. "You want to do honours?"

"I'd be delighted." The man in the sweatshirt took the phone. "Untraceable, of course."

"Of course."

"Just press send?"

"Just send."

Sweatshirt glanced around the corner of the building, almost as if he was making sure the limousine was still there, then pushed the button.

Immediately the very air seemed to ignite with sound, the explosion rattling the other cars, and blowing the windows out of the office, while bits of metal rained down over a wide area. Something soft plopped onto the ground next to them as the noise died away.

Glancing at each other they stepped out from the protection of the building to gaze at what was left of the big black automobile. It was almost unrecognisable, a twisted, blackened heap that might once have been a car, still smouldering and smelling strongly of burnt rubber and gas.

"Well, Chenkov, I would quote Michael Caine in The Italian Job, but this is exactly what I was hoping for."

The little Russian beamed. "Is _my_ job."

"And the pig carcase worked a treat." He kicked a fragment of flesh lying on the ground at his feet.

"Close to human. Like in meat grinder."

"With this number of parts, they may not even bother to put the puzzle back together."

Chenkov nodded, happy with his work. "So you think big enough now, Mr Hanover?"

Hanover smiled. "Perfect. And we're ready for opening night."


	4. Chapter 4

It was like something out of a movie, Kate decided later. There should have been a swell of music, rising to a crescendo as Rick crossed the room and took his friend in his arms, holding her tight and shaking his head in disbelief, tears this time of joy starting to blur his vision.

Not that Kate didn't share his bemusement. She'd have bet her pension that the body pulled out of Central Park lake was Maggie, and yet here she was, standing there, her eyes half-closed to enjoy Rick's embrace. Kate was overwhelmingly glad, too. She'd got to know Maggie really well in the past few years, and that relationship had, in a way, helped her peel back more of Rick's layers in the process.

He and Maggie had been at college together, becoming friends because of their writing, but staying close because they genuinely adored each other. They'd even been lovers, and he'd once asked her to marry him, but she'd said no. It had taken a long while for her to admit that, as much as she really wanted to say yes, she knew a marriage would change the dynamics, and knowing Rick as well as she did she couldn't face the inevitable break-up.

When circumstances brought Maggie into Kate's life through a case she was working on, she'd initially been jealous of their closeness, but had come to accept they were genuine best friends, the kind that would last a lifetime. Even Maggie's marriage to James Congreve hadn't diminished her affection for Rick, although it had apparently been causing problems. Since their move to California the occasional lunch dates and evenings out Kate and Maggie had enjoyed had stopped, but believing she was dead was painful, so what Rick had to have been going through was much worse.

Finding out she was still alive, though, was currently very confusing.

As she stood staring at the couple, her cell beeped. Without taking her eyes off them she put it to her ear. "Beckett."

_"It's Lanie. You'll never guess."_

"It's not Maggie."

_"How the … how did you do that? I've only just checked her fingerprints for confirmation of ID."_

"I'll explain later."

_"You'd better, girl."_

Kate hung up just as Maggie said, "As nice as this is, oxygen becoming an issue."

"Oh. Yes." Rick released her, but only to grasp her by the shoulders instead. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my apartment. Why shouldn't I be here?" There was bewilderment in Maggie's green eyes.

"I mean now. Today. Your book tour …"

"I cut it short. There were another couple of radio interviews to do but I said we could do them by phone. I just got back ..." She glanced at the sundial clock on the wall, then did an almost comical double-take as she realised the time. "Damn, was I asleep that long?"

"When, Maggie?"

"About midnight. I drove straight here from the airport and fell into bed." She scratched her head and glanced at Kate. "Will one of you tell me what's going on?"

"We thought you were dead."

"What?" Maggie laughed. "Has someone done one of those horrible prank calls? You know, the kind where you get someone sounding really official to ring up and say you've won the lottery or something?"

"I just saw your body," Rick said, as serious as he ever got.

"Rick, that's not funny."

"No. it's not." He pulled her to the couch and made her sit down next to him, but it wasn't clear which of them needed the support most. "Mags, I'm not joking." He used his own nickname for her in the hope that she'd believe him.

Maggie looked up at Kate. "I don't understand. Maybe you can explain?"

Kate perched on the edge of a soft armchair. "A body was pulled out of the lake in Central Park this afternoon. We thought it was you."

"Well, it isn't. I'm alive and well. Mostly." She tried a half smile. "But she … I mean, it _was_ a woman? Not a man in drag?" It sounded like a feeble attempt at a joke.

"A woman," Kate confirmed, remembering the swell of breast through the torn, sodden blouse.

"And she looked like me?"

Rick grasped her hands. "I thought I'd lost my best friend."

Maggie turned to gaze into his blue eyes, moisture glistening among his long lashes. "Don't. I'm not that easy to get rid of, Rick. But it's just a coincidence. Someone with short black hair like mine and –"

"She was wearing your necklace," Rick interrupted. "The amber pendant I had made for you."

Her brows drew together. "Don't joke."

"I'm not."

Maggie pulled her hands from his so she could stand up and pace. "No. Look, this is crazy. Someone with a faint resemblance to me gets killed and you both react badly. Okay, I understand that, and I'm frankly flattered that you feel this way, but it's coincidence, nothing more. And your imagination made the pendant she was wearing look like mine."

"You think I wouldn't recognise it?" Rick shook his head. "It was the one I gave you. It even had the tiny chip out of it that happened the time you threw it at me."

"That isn't funny."

"It's not meant to be."

She stared at him then collapsed back onto the couch as if all the air had been let out of her. "Shit." Licking suddenly dry lips she continued, almost to herself, "I thought I was going crazy. I didn't believe … I mean, it had to have been then, but … I mean, I was only –"

"Mags." Rick's tone broke in. "You're not making sense."

She looked up. "I think it must have been stolen."

"Stolen?" Kate's cop instincts were still fully intact, even if she didn't carry the same badge. "When?"

"I'm not sure. When I was packing for Europe I looked for it, but it wasn't there." Maggie exhaled slowly, thinking hard, then added, "A week or so before I left I thought someone had been in my apartment, while I was taking out the trash. Things had been moved, at least I thought they had, but I couldn't find anything missing, so I dismissed it as my imagination playing tricks."

"Did you report the break-in?"

"No."

"Why not?" Kate wanted to know.

"Because nobody had. Broken in. I hadn't locked my door, and I was gone five, maybe ten minutes. I stopped to chat to a neighbour, otherwise I'd have been back a lot quicker, so I suppose I convinced myself I was mistaken."

"It's a good job you were being friendly," Rick pointed out. "Or you might have surprised him."

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, there's not much point in getting CSU in here now," Kate mused. "Not after all this time."

"This woman …" Maggie spoke diffidently. "How did she … die?"

"We … the police think she was shot."

"In Central Park, you said?"

"That's where she was found. But I think she was killed downstairs, in the parking garage."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because there's what looks like blood on your car, and on the ground."

Maggie sat forward. "When?"

"Lanie puts a tentative TOD at around 2am."

"You mean she was downstairs while I was …" Her face paled.

"Maggie, don't think about it," Rick said firmly. "There's nothing you could have done."

Maggie took a deep breath, holding it and trying to centre herself. When she released it, she was back in control. "But this doesn't explain why she looks … looked like me." Her eyes narrowed slightly as something occurred to her and she got to her feet. "Can I see the body?"

"What? Why?" Rick was bemused. The Maggie he knew had never been exactly ghoulish, but what she said next had his mouth drop open.

"Because I might have an idea of who she is."

* * *

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea." Lanie held her noteboard in front of her like a shield as they all stood in the corridor. "You're not a cop anymore and I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be showing bodies to all and sundry."

"I'm not all and sundry, and I might not be a cop but I am a Federal agent." Kate was having a hard job persuading her friend to let them into the business end of the morgue, and quite honestly she wasn't surprised.

"Really. You got your badge on you?"

"Well, no, but … Lanie, aren't you in the least bit curious? We all thought it was Maggie – don't you want to know the truth?"

"I know the truth. I've got a dead woman lying on my slab, and I'm about to start the process in finding out who killed her."

"And first step is identifying her, you know that."

"I thought we had."

"But we know better now." Kate gestured to where Rick and Maggie were standing, a distance off. "Two minutes. That's all it's going to take. Less."

"Two minutes. That's all."

"All we need."

Lanie half turned then stopped. "By the way, honey, should I squee for you?"

"What?"

The ME looked pointedly down at Kate's left hand. "Did you say yes?"

Kate's eyes widened as she realised what her friend meant. "Damn. I'd forgotten I was wearing it." She glanced at Rick but he was deep in conversation with Maggie. Quickly slipping the engagement ring off her finger she pushed it into her pocket. "Think he noticed?"

"What do you think?"

"He hasn't said anything."

Lanie's probably acerbic response was cut off by the double doors at the end of the corridor opening, and Ryan and Esposito hurrying through.

"You called them?" Kate asked quietly.

"I had to. It's their case."

Kate understood. "Hi, guys."

For once they ignored her, all their attention on Maggie.

Esposito spoke first. "Hey." He wasn't demonstrative, not like Rick had been, but it was clear he was just as relieved. They'd all become friends, even going so far as all of them, including Jenny, Lanie and James, spending the occasional evening in The Old Haunt, singing along to the ancient piano and probably drinking far too much late into the night. Luckily they knew the owner.

"Hey." Maggie smiled.

"Not dead then."

"Seems not."

Ryan was more effusive, probably something to do with their shared Gaelic heritage. He hugged her. "Glad it's not you."

"Me too." Maggie let herself kiss his cheek before pulling away.

The Irish cop grinned but then was back to business. "What are you doing here?"

"Maggie thinks she might know who your victim is," Rick explained.

"Really?"

Maggie nodded. "There's someone … but I need to see."

"We could show you a photograph."

"It has to be in person. And I have seen dead people before."

"Yeah, but this is different," Esposito put in. "We thought this was you."

"Then better get it over with." She was firm, not about to be put off.

Lanie looked at Kate, who shrugged. "Well, okay. But don't say we didn't warn you. This way."

The ME led the way into the cold steel room, where a shrouded body lay on the table in the middle, as if ready and waiting to have the curtains drawn back to start a performance. But there was no overture, no barker calling the audience in to watch the show, except for Lanie lifting the sheet back from the face.

Maggie took two paces forward and stared down. She swore quietly.

Rick watched, unable to keep the slight shudder from making his frame tremble. No matter that he knew it wasn't her, wasn't his Mags, that she was standing there alive and breathing … the victim _did _look like her. It was like a reflection – take away the slackness of death, put back the vitality, the sheer stubborn joy of living, and this could be Maggie.

"Okay, this is supremely creepy," Ryan commented, and his partner silently agreed.

"Twins?" Kate glanced at Rick, unknowingly echoing all their thoughts and remembering the case where she'd first made Maggie's acquaintance, when one pair of twins had murdered another.

"I'm definitely an only child," Maggie confirmed absently, having overheard. "I always wished I had a brother or sister, to take some of the … but …"

"So?" Esposito prompted. "_Do_ you know her?"

Maggie nodded, just a single jerk of her head. "Her name's Carol Flanagan."

* * *

The boys had insisted they all go back to the precinct so they could take Maggie's statement in a more formal fashion, and now they were all sitting in one of the interview rooms. It was the first time Kate had been back since she moved to Washington, and it felt odd to have to be an observer rather than the detective in charge. Rick smiled at her and squeezed her hand, giving her comfort and letting her know he understood. And at least Ryan and Esposito hadn't insisted on talking to Maggie alone.

"So," Ryan began. "Carol Flanagan." They'd pulled her DMV photo from the database, and a copy was on the table between them. "She does look a bit like you," he admitted. "But not that much."

"Enough." Maggie pushed her hands through her short dark hair, making it stand in places. "It's what brought her to my attention at the launch party for _Dying On The Inside_." One of her books, a bestseller, and currently under option to a major Hollywood studio.

"That was, what, nearly two years ago?" Ryan was a prolific reader, turned on to thrillers by the arrival of a certain crime writer some half a decade back.

"Eighteen months," Maggie corrected. "I don't know how she got into the party, but suddenly there she was, asking for an autograph for her copy, and someone said something about how we could be related."

"So she was a fan?"

"At first." Maggie sighed deeply. "You know, I don't know if it was my books or the faint resemblance between us that started it, but I started seeing her at all my book signings."

"The book signings you hate to do," Rick pointed out, earning the sharp glance from Esposito that said _You're not part of this anymore._

Maggie didn't notice. "Yes, those. Sometimes two or three in the same week, there she was with another virgin book." She took a deep breath. "Then she started turning up other places. Once when I was taking photos in Central Park for a book I was working on, then another time waiting outside a radio station after I did an interview, having the next appointment when I was getting a manicure, all the time acting as if we were the best of friends. After that it was more … insidious. I'd see her in the street when I was shopping, standing outside the apartment, just watching … It was very awkward. Finally she turned up at a restaurant and started shouting that she was a close relative of mine, and that we were waiting for her, and if they didn't get out of her way she was going to call the police. The manager had to come out and persuade her to leave."

"That was her?" Rick couldn't stop the words from tumbling from his lips.

"You knew?" Kate turned her clear eyes on him.

"I was the one Maggie was having dinner with when she appeared at Antonelli's," Rick said. He shrugged. "We all have them, you know, fans like that. They think just because you smiled, signed their book, that they own a part of you."

"Well, she definitely thought she did," Maggie added, going on, "Most people might say she was just a harmless crazy person, but in the end I had to get an injunction against her."

"When was this?" Esposito asked, making a note to get a copy.

"Six months ago."

"So that was the last time you saw her," Esposito said. "At the restaurant."

"No," Maggie responded, surprising them all. "The last time was just before I left for Europe. She turned up outside my apartment building, looking like ... that." She gestured towards one of the photos of the dead woman lying on the table. "I have no idea what she spent, but the plastic surgery must have been thousands, just to look even more like me."

"That's taking fandom a bit too far," Rick said softly.

"What did she want?" Esposito asked, ignoring him.

"Nothing. I think it was just to show what she'd had done. Although …"

"What?"

Maggie looked a little ashamed. "Come to think of it, it was probably the same day I thought someone had been in my apartment."

"When you think your necklace went missing," Kate interjected.

"Yes." Maggie buried her face in her hands. "I am so stupid," she added, somewhat muffled.

"You didn't know what she was up to," Rick said, trying to be comforting.

"And was she a relative?" Ryan asked, curious.

Taking a deep breath Maggie looked back up. "Possibly. There are some Flanagans on my mother's side, but I wasn't exactly in the mood to go checking into my ancestors. So I just got the injunction instead."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rick wanted to know.

"I don't tell you everything."

"Yes, you do."

With another sigh and a brief close of her eyes Maggie nodded. "I know. But this was ... embarrassing, somehow. And she wasn't dangerous, just persistent."

"You still should have told me. I could have helped."

"You were busy."

She didn't quite glance at Kate, but he got the message. "Yes. Sorry."

"I handled it."

Esposito wanted to get things back on track. "And you're sure it's her? This Carol Flanagan?"

"Positive. That's why I wanted to see her. She had a small birthmark under her right ear. It's Carol, alright." Maggie moved her gaze to Rick. "Did you do the identification?" she asked.

Rick shrugged. "We've been friends a long time."

She smiled slightly. "And you didn't know it wasn't me." She tutted.

"We … uh … were going to call your Dad." Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. "But we couldn't find his number."

"I don't have it. And there'd be no point anyway."

"He'd have wanted to know."

Maggie gave a short, bitter laugh. "Only to make sure I was really dead."

"Mags."

She looked at Rick. "You know how he was. He washed his hands of me. He's hardly likely to turn up wearing sackcloth and ashes."

Ryan and Esposito exchanged the look that said _writers._

Then Ryan said, showing the real cause for his discomfort, "We _did_ call James."

Maggie's face lost all of its colour. "You did what?" she asked hoarsely.

"We thought you were dead."

"And we figured it was better coming from someone he knew," Esposito added quickly.

"So he thinks …" Maggie swallowed. "When? When did you call him?"

"Before we moved the body," Ryan admitted.

"Shit." Maggie fumbled in her purse and pulled out her phone. Her hands were trembling as she hit speed dial. A moment later and she swore again. "Shit. Double shit. It's going to voicemail." She paused, letting the message run through, then spoke slowly, softly. "James, it's me. I'm not dead. Not even hurt. It's a mistake. Please call me as soon as you get this." She closed the connection and closed her eyes, trying to blot out the last couple of hours.

"He's probably on a plane right now," Rick said, trying to be comforting.

"He was going to get the first flight," Ryan agreed.

Maggie shook her head. "I can't believe you told him I was dead."

"We thought you were."

"And I for one am ecstatic you're not," Rick added.

"God, how must he be feeling?" Maggie started to gulp.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked, perhaps more attuned to female physiology.

Maggie put her hand to her throat, then her mouth. "I … no … where's your …"

"This way." Kate led her quickly towards the restrooms.

The three men followed them out into the bullpen, then each of them turned away when they realised what was about to happen.

"Nerves," Rick said succinctly.

"Probably." Ryan didn't sound so sure.

"If I thought my other half thought I was dead, I'd probably be throwing up too," Esposito said.

"Yeah, but Lanie would want to do the autopsy just to make sure."

Esposito gave him one of his looks, then said, "Coffee?"

"Please."

"Castle?"

Rick had been checking out Kate's old desk. "Hmmn? Oh, yes. White, extra sugar, extra –"

"I know. It's not been that long." Esposito headed off to the break room.

"So where's the new detective?" Rick asked, nodding towards Kate's old desk, conspicuous by its bareness. There were no photos, no pencil mug, no potted plant, and no cop. "I'm presuming Gates hasn't let you two work by yourselves."

"His name's MacMillan. From the 19th Precinct."

"I didn't ask for his life history. Just where he was."

Ryan sighed heavily. "Ulcer. Long term sick leave."

"From working with you two?"

"More than likely."

"Not a patch on Beckett, I'm guessing."

"Not even a little bit." He looked at Rick, his head slightly on one side. "You know, you could still have joined us in The Old Haunt once in a while."

"I was busy."

"Waiting for Beckett's calls?"

"Something like that."

Kate headed back towards them.

"How is she?" Rick asked, glancing beyond her towards the rest rooms.

"Getting herself together."

"Did she …" He mimed something that was pretty disgusting.

"Yes. I think it's the stress."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault."

Kate smiled.

Ryan looked from one to the other, picking up on some small tension. "I … uh … think I'll just go help Javi with those coffees." He crabbed sideways then turned and hurried from the fallout zone.

"What's wrong with him?" Kate asked.

"Where's the ring?"

"What?"

"The ring. Diamond solitaire. Half a carat. The ring."

She blushed. "That ring." She took it from her pocket and held it out.

"Were you just trying it on for size?" he asked, an odd look in his eyes as he took it.

"Yes." Her chin came up.

"Only I thought I'd been robbed. Until I saw it on your finger. And then I didn't."

"I wanted to see how it looked."

"And what did you think?"

"You have good taste."

"And?"

"Nothing's changed, Castle."

"You know, I don't think I believe you."

Kate was about to protest, to insist that this new job was what she really wanted, but for some reason felt intense relief when Maggie reappeared so she didn't have to say it.

"Feeling better?" Rick asked, content to leave the difficult questions for a while.

Maggie nodded. "Something I ate."

"You sure?"

"Well, it's not always I see a dead body that looks like me before breakfast."

"It's evening," he responded, looking pointedly as his watch.

"And I'm jetlagged."

"That's no excuse," he teased. "I think I'd better get you home. If that's okay with you guys." This last he said to Ryan and Esposito, coming out of the break room juggling five mugs of coffee between them.

"I think we've got everything we need," Esposito agreed. "And you'll be around if we need anything else."

"She'll be at my place," Rick assured them.

Maggie stared at him. "What's wrong with my own apartment?"

"Mags, use that writer's brain of yours." Rick took one of the mugs and handed it to her, wincing slightly as he watched her gulping down the hot liquid. "A woman who looks like you is killed in the garage to your building, right next to your car."

"I don't …" She stopped, wiping her mouth slowly with the back of her hand. "You mean they might have been looking for me."

"I know it sounds like the plot to one of your books, but I don't think it's safe for you to stay there."

Kate was nodding. "Just in case," she added.

"I've got a secure building," Rick went on, "good locks, and a Federal agent on tap with a gun."

Maggie looked from one to the other. "Yes, but you're supposed to be spending some quality time together. I don't want to –"

"Rick's right," Kate said. "Until we … until _they_ know for sure, better you stay somewhere one of us can protect you."

"Are you saying I can't protect anyone?" Rick asked, his hand melodramatically on his heart. "After the number of times I've saved you?"

Kate put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Are you still counting?"

"You're only mad because I'm winning."

"Winning? Since when was it a competition?"

"You're just a sore loser."

"I'm not losing."

"You want me to go over the list for you?"

Ryan glanced at Esposito. "I've missed this," he said quietly. "Mom and Dad fighting."

His partner nodded. "Me too, bro. Me too," he agreed, listening to the familiar bickering continue.

* * *

As the sun finally slipped below the horizon the reason people were on the streets changed. They'd finished shopping, exercising, or just taking the air. Now there was more purpose in their journeys, heading to the latest Broadway hit show, or to eat in the newest chic restaurant, or just to spend time with family or friends.

Those passing by the delivery truck didn't even glance at it once, let alone twice, and were oblivious to the little packet of death sitting in the engine compartment, the tiny red numerals counting down to zero.


	5. Chapter 5

It was dark, the sort of night that hides deep and nefarious deeds. The clock had moved inexorably towards 3.00 am, and he knew that soon the soft glow of morning was going to cause the eastern sky to blush. And he really needed to stop thinking like a lurid romance novel. Much more and he'd have to get up and beat the boot boy, then go and deflower some well-endowed virgin. He chuckled, but stifled it instantly. Although not quick enough, it seemed.

"Can't sleep?"

He jumped and looked over at Kate. "Hey." He smiled, even though he was sure she couldn't see, considering her eyes were still closed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't."

"You mean you've been awake all this time and I could have been annoying you?"

"I mean I woke up about five minutes ago and have been waiting to go back to sleep. And as for the annoying, I'm sure you'll make up for it."

"Are you insulting me?"

"Yes."

"Good to know." He pulled her over so she was resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "Sleepy?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, and he wondered if she'd dozed off, then she said, "You want to talk about the ring."

"Only if you want to."

"I told you why I tried it on."

"But not why you didn't take it off. Some kind of Freudian slip? Because your therapist would have a field day with that."

"I think he's a Jungian. But I just forgot. I did get interrupted, you know."

"I know." He shuddered at the memory of thinking it was Maggie lying there dead on the lake bank, and it must have communicated to Kate because she laid her hand gently above his heart.

"She's okay. She's upstairs, wrapped in James."

"That sounds vaguely disturbing."

There'd been something of a tearful reunion earlier. James might have spoken to Maggie on the phone as soon as he landed and picked up her message, but the relief on his face was palpable as he almost ran into the loft and enveloped her in his arms, tears on his cheeks.

Rick and Kate had withdrawn to the study, giving the big man and his wife privacy, and it had been a good ten minutes before Maggie called them back out. She looked like she'd been crying too, but the lines of tension had gone from her face.

"It's my fault, you know," Rick went on now, stroking Kate's back. "Why they were having problems."

"I don't think you need to worry about that anymore. You saw how they were. I think Maggie's realised just how much he loves her. It's amazing what that does for a woman."

"Did it do it for you?"

She ignored him. "So don't beat yourself up over it. I'm more than happy to do it for you."

"Apples."

"That won't always work."

He laughed lightly, then asked, "Are you jealous of Mags?"

"No. Should I be?"

"Of course not. But I've always thought of her as my best friend. She's always stood by me, and even after my divorces she hasn't once said 'I told you so'."

"I would have."

"I know."

"And you're wondering if that means she loves you more than I do?"

"No! Kate, this isn't about … I just … it should be you. My best friend."

"Rick, you're an idiot."

"So I've been told. Usually by you."

She pinched a convenient area of skin, then when he yelped she stroked it better. "You know, you can have more than one best friend."

"Isn't that a contradiction in terms? I mean, best is generally singular."

"Not in this case. I mean, look at Kevin and Javi."

"Do I have to?"

"Kevin is very happily married to Jenny, and Javi is in a relationship with Lanie."

"Is that back on? I can't keep track."

"The point is that they're best friends, too."

"Yes, but they're partners. They have to be."

"Oh, believe me, I've known more than a few partnerships where love didn't come into it. Ours, for instance. At least at first."

"You wound me."

"It could be arranged." She snuggled closer.

"But you don't mind, do you?"

"Mind what?"

"Maggie and James being here?"

"Why should I?"

"Well, after what happened when I let Meredith stay that time Alexis got mono …"

"Castle, I made it plain how I felt then. Just because you didn't pick up on it until it was too late –"

"Yes, sorry. I did apologise."

"I'd have said if I don't want them to stay. Besides, you're right – it's a lot safer."

"You think she's in danger too." It wasn't a question.

Kate sighed softly. "It's a hell of a coincidence if Carol Flanagan _was_ the intended victim. And I'd lay money on Ryan and Espo having a patrol car go by here on a regular basis."

"You mean I'm being watched?"

"Yes. So stop doing that."

"What, this?"

"That."

"You really want me to?"

"I want you to tell me if you'd have asked me to marry you if I hadn't told you I was going to Washington."

His hand stopped its meandering, and he didn't answer at first. Eventually he sighed and said, "No. It sort of precipitated it."

"So if I hadn't, we'd have gone on, being the same old same old, and not progressing."

He tried to see her face, get an idea of what she was thinking. "Was it so bad? What we had? You know you only had to say."

This time she was the one to pause. He was right – if she'd started the conversation … but instead she'd let circumstances do her talking for her. "I was a coward."

"You? Katherine Beckett?"

"No, I was. I should have said something, made you be serious for once and discuss our future."

"I _was_ serious. You said no." Before she could answer he went on, "What did you think was going to happen to us? Taking the job, moving … what did you think I'd do?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure I was thinking that far ahead. Not at first."

"Which is why you didn't tell me."

"Probably. And then, when I did think about us, I was already so fired up about taking the job if it was offered, I …" She couldn't think of the right way to say it at first, and finally just came out with, "I suppose I was scared it was more important to me than you were."

"Is it?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer, but had to ask. "Is it more important?"

"I don't know." She felt wretched not being able to tell him what he wanted to hear, but knew it wasn't the time for dissembling. "But I want both."

"Kate, I told you before. And believe me, my knee still aches. Whatever you want."

She lifted her head and kissed him, softly, tenderly, and just the touch of her lips made him believe she loved him. He groaned slightly as desire began to burn inside him, and he pulled her closer. She smiled even as their kiss deepened and he tugged at her t-shirt to get to skin.

* * *

Tick tock, tick tock goes the clock to 3.30 am. Except the timer didn't exactly tick, or tock, and the numbers changed silently. As it reached the inevitable zero and an electrical charge passed through the wires into the detonator, the explosion it caused was spectacular, if something designed to cause death and destruction could be described using such a word. The delivery van parked outside the New York Public Library was obliterated in the fireball: it lit up the night sky and shattered windows, damaging and discolouring some of the recently refurbished marble.

Due to the time of the blast the only casualty was a homeless man who'd decided to spend the night sheltered inside one of the doorways. He suffered a broken leg, wrist and concussion, but he didn't seem too upset as the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance – at least he'd be fed and comfortable for a few days while he started to heal. The administrators of the library, called from their beds in the wee small hours, were much more concerned about their books, and demanded to be let inside the building to check none of them had been damaged.

The second explosion, on the other hand, was almost an anti-climax, confined as it was in the underground parking garage of a block of high end apartments overlooking the Hudson some seventeen minutes later. It necessitated the evacuation of the residents, but at least the night was warm and dry, and most of them had picked up the bare essentials like their cellphones and credit cards.

It was only when the fire crews were checking the garage for structural damage that they discovered torn flesh among the debris littering the ground around the demolished limousine.

* * *

Kate walked out of the bedroom and yawned widely.

"Morning, sleepy head." Rick smiled from behind the kitchen counter, holding up a glass jug. "Coffee?"

"Please." She ran her fingers through her bed hair and padded barefoot towards him.

He poured, adding hot milk and making a heart with the foam. The smile became a little smug – he was getting quite good at that. "I was going to let you sleep," he said, putting the cup down in front of her. "You looked so comfortable."

"I was."

"Admit it. You missed waking up next to me."

"Actually, I did."

He looked like a little boy given free rein in a sweet shop. "How about we take these back to bed, then?"

She picked up her mug and took a sip, immediately feeling the caffeine start to make its way into her system. "Is that all you think about?"

"Hey, I've been celibate for eight weeks. If you think yesterday and last night were enough, you can think again." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"And what about Maggie and James?"

"I wasn't thinking of inviting them. Unless you fancied a foursome."

Her eyes narrowed as if she was considering it. "Mmn. You and James …"

"Well, he's good-looking in a non-ruggedly-handsome kind of way …"

They stared at each other, then both laughed.

"Ssh." Kate held up her hand. "You'll have them down here and I'm not going to be the one explaining why." She took another mouthful of coffee, then her eyes fell on the NY Ledger, fresh off the press and waiting to be read. The headline jumped out at her. _Explosions Rock Sleeping City_. In slightly smaller type the newspaper asked _Is this the start of a new terror campaign?_ The photo taking up most of the space above the fold was of fire crews and bomb disposal officers going through what could have been the remains of a truck.

Rick realised where she was looking, and immediately sobered. "Can't seem to get away from it, can we?"

"Easier to write about it than live it."

"Mmn." He shook himself. "Well, if you won't come back to bed for round … where did we get to?"

"Just last night or since I got back?"

He grinned. "Breakfast?"

Her cellphone chirped and interrupted him. She picked it up off the counter where she'd left it the night before and glanced at the screen. "I have to get this," she said, turning her back on him and walking away a little before connecting the call. "Beckett."

Rick watched her listening, her back straightening as she answered with only yes and no. It was a short call, and when she hung up she turned slowly to look at him.

"Kate?" he asked, wondering about the look on her face.

"You are not going to believe this."

* * *

The partners had been at the site of the second explosion for quite some time, taking statements and trawling for information among the residents and employees of the apartment block.

"You're sure about that?" Ryan asked the nightman, one Victor Halliday, a bullish fifty year old with a buzzcut and the posture of an ex-serviceman.

"Yes sir," Halliday said, nodding towards the entrance to the garage. "I'm sure."

The short night had turned into a glorious early morning, and the July sun promised heat without the stifling August humidity. Ryan was on interview duty while Esposito was conversing with his buddies from the bomb squad, trying to get them to give him something, anything.

"So the car belongs to Elliott Carmody, penthouse apartment on the east side?"

"Yes, sir. There might not be much left, but I know that vehicle. Seen it often enough."

"And the watch?" Ryan held up the evidence bag, a gold Rolex inside. It had been found still attached to a wrist, but not much else.

"His driver's. Tom Eccleston. I remember him showing it to me when he bought it. He was so proud of it. He said it meant he was American, no matter where he was born."

"And where was that?"

"England. Some place outside London, I think. Was it a bomb?"

Ryan squinted into the sunlight being reflected off different buildings, not phased by the change of subject. "We're not sure."

"Only I've seen what happens with a car bomb. I was in the first Gulf War."

"So did Mr Carmody often go for a drive in the middle of the night?" Ryan didn't want to get into the specifics of what had happened, particularly as he didn't know much.

"He's something in banking. Investments, I think. Stocks and shares, that kind of thing. Not that I have any myself. Two ex-wives and four kids … there's not exactly a lot left for me to play the markets."

"And the drive?" Ryan prompted.

"Right." Despite his outward impression of a bulldog, Halliday was obviously shaken. "Yes. Yes, he often went into the office late. Or very early. I think he was dealing with markets and investors the other side of the world, so …" He took a deep breath. "Sorry, sir. I'm not giving a very good account of myself."

"You're doing fine." Ryan gave a small encouraging smile. "Did you see him go out last night?"

"No, but Mr Carmody doesn't have to come through the lobby to get to his car. Most often he'd take the stairs and drive straight out."

"What about CCTV? Is the garage covered?"

"Yes, sir. There are monitors at my desk." He looked a little shame-faced. "Except they were down. We had some glitches during the evening, and the cameras finally quit about midnight. I called the company and they promised to get someone out to us this morning." He glanced again at the gaping maw of the garage. "Bit late now."

Ryan made a note, but went on, "What about earlier?"

"Sure. I can get them for you. It records on a rolling 72-hour system, but it uploads to the company servers every night. If you like I could call them …" He wanted to be helpful.

"Just what you have for now, thanks."

Halliday nodded, coming almost to attention. "Anything I can do. I mean, Mr Carmody was all right, and Tom was a good man. Didn't mind chatting when he had the time."

"Well, thanks again. Anything else occurs to you, give me a call." Ryan smiled again and walked away, leaving the man staring at the garage. Esposito saw him coming and left the small group of BDU officers he'd been talking to.

"So," Ryan said. "Bomb?"

"Bomb. From the extent of the damage they figure it was in the engine compartment. RDX, according the residue." He held out another evidence bag. "And they found this."

Ryan took it, examining the contents. It was a wallet, from the texture made from ostrich, and flattened open so he could see inside. "Elliott Carmody," he read from the driver's licence.

"Looks like we've got two victims," Esposito said.

"How can you tell?" Ryan didn't expect an answer, just walked past him towards the bits of body that had been collected and laid on a black body bag.

Perlmutter straightened up. "I'd say life is definitely extinct."

"Can you give us anything?" Esposito asked, not commenting on the gallows humour.

The ME shook his head. "Not even time of death at the moment, considering his liver is probably splashed about inside."

Ryan winced slightly. "The explosion was at 3:47."

"Well, there's no decomp, the bits are fresh … could be."

Esposito took a careful breath. "We think there might be two men."

"Really?" Perlmutter looked at the lumps of human. "There doesn't seem to be enough, but that's no indication. I've seen explosions where 99 percent of the body was vapourised. And I can see at least two kinds of fabric embedded in the flesh. I'll try and piece them back together, but it's probably going to mean DNA to be sure."

"Well, do what you can," Ryan said.

Perlmutter didn't respond, just gave them the blank look he used to give his least favourite author before turning away to supervise his technicians.

Ryan and Esposito glanced at each other then backed off slowly.

"He really doesn't like you," Esposito said.

"Me?"

"Yeah. Haven't you noticed?"

"Maybe it's you."

"Nah. I'm lovable."

"Really."

"Hey, guys."

They both turned, surprised to see Kate striding towards them, Rick only a pace or two behind.

"Beckett." Ryan spoke, glancing around to see if any of the uniformed officers had noticed the new arrivals. "What are you doing here?"

"The Feds are going to be here any time," Esposito added, his tone low and warning. "They won't like civilians hanging about."

"Well, the thing is, they're already here." Kate held up her new badge. "And that would be me."


	6. Chapter 6

"Agent Beckett."

"Captain."

Kate faced Gates across the desk, only this time it wasn't as boss to subordinate.

"I can't seem to get rid of you, can I?" Gates said, a slight smile on her face.

"Isn't there something about a bad penny …?"

"Yes."

"Although I'd rather it wasn't under these particular circumstances."

"No." Gates sobered. "What do you need?"

"Co-operation." She'd spent most of the morning at the two crime scenes, first at the apartment block then driving to the second outside the New York Public Library, taking in as much as she could and letting the evidence talk to her. Rick had tagged along until a call from the precinct had requested her presence in Gates' office and they drove to the 12th. Now Kate quickly went over in her mind how much to pass on. "The Federal Task Force is involved because at the moment there's no proof this was an act of terrorism."

"So two bombs go off within half an hour of each other by accident?" The Sahara seemed almost lush next to her dry tone.

"In a parallel universe, perhaps. But right now I need all the information you have on both explosions."

"Done."

"And the use of your detectives."

"That won't be necessary." The man's voice cut across their conversation and they both looked towards the open door. He was medium height, brown haired and brown eyed, and even though his black suit was made-to-measure, he still looked like he could fade into the background at any time. "We have more than sufficient resources to resolve this issue."

"And you are?" Gates prompted.

He held up a badge. "Agent Peter Forsyth. Federal Task Force." He looked at Kate. "Beckett."

She nodded fractionally. "Forsyth." The air between them perceptibly thickened.

Gates coughed to get their attention. "Agent Forsyth. I hope you're not planning on taking over the investigation."

His lips might have curved a millimetre. "This _is_ a Federal matter."

"And I have two dead bodies. It was only sheer luck it wasn't more."

"We appreciate that. And we appreciate your co-operation as well. But we'll take it from here." He held up a hand to stop any protest. "I can call the Attorney General's office for you if you like. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to explain the situation to you."

Gates looked like she'd prefer to argue, but instead she nodded curtly. "I want to be kept in the loop."

"I'm sure we can arrange that." Forsyth walked out of the office.

Kate looked at Gates with sympathy, then followed.

Forsyth was waiting for her. "Agent Beckett, you're still thinking like a cop. You're not. We are separate, distinct. We have assets your ex-colleagues would give their eye-teeth to get their hands on. We also have a very specific agenda."

"Agenda?" Kate's brow furrowed.

"We're chasing the explosives. Intelligence suggests there's a lot more out there than just the small amount used last night."

"And the deaths? What about them?"

"Only two people. I know that sounds harsh, but what we do could stop the slaughter of hundreds, possibly thousands." He attempted to look sympathetic but it didn't really work. "We have to look at the bigger picture, Agent Beckett."

Rick was perched on the corner of a desk. "So what's our first move?" he asked, then flinched as Forsyth shifted his cold look to him.

"You go home, Mr Castle."

"No, wait, I can help."

"I know all about you. Mystery novelist with a taste for solving crimes. And you might well have had some success working with Detective Beckett –"

"_Some_?" Rick interrupted but was ignored.

"But she isn't part of the NYPD anymore. And I'm sure we can solve this without your assistance." Forsyth turned deliberately on his heel and walked away.

"Sorry," Kate murmured, then followed her colleague.

"Wow," Ryan murmured to his partner. "Frost-bite or what?"

"You can say that again," Esposito agreed.

"You feel kinda pushed out?"

"It's always been that way when the Feds are in town." Esposito shook his head slightly. "And I'm surprised at _her_."

"I guess things are different now."

"I get that, bro. But I don't have to like it."

They'd been speaking quietly, but Rick must have heard because now he stopped gazing at the closed elevator doors and turned to them. "You really think Beckett's not going to tell me what they find out? Besides, you've got two dead bodies. Well, bits of two bodies, anyway. And I have the feeling she's going to need all the help she can get."

"So we're just side-kicks?"

He grinned, even though he didn't feel like it. "Yeah. Mine. And don't worry – I'll keep you up to date. Besides, I have an idea."

The phone rang and Ryan answered, just as Esposito said, "We're not going to like this, are we?"

Whatever Rick was going to say was stifled by Ryan.

"They've what?" He listened for a moment more. "We'll be right there." He put the phone down and turned to the others. "Guess what's happened now."

* * *

Perlmutter looked even more disgusted than usual. "They just waltzed in and took them."

"Everything?" Rick had tagged along with the partners and now stared at the autopsy table, conspicuous by its emptiness.

"Every last chunk."

Ryan winced at the ME's stark turn of phrase. "Did you find anything out at all?" he asked.

"I'd only just started my tests, detective," Perlmutter said with more than a trace of asperity.

"But you started." Rick turned on the charm. "And we all know how efficient you are."

The charm was, however, wasted. "It's my job, Castle."

"And?" Ryan prompted.

"Well, as far as I could tell, all the parts came from one person. A man."

"How do you know it was a man?" Esposito asked.

"Some of the parts were … pretty obvious." He glanced down and the other men felt their crotches try and hide.

"Do you know who it was? Carmody or …" Ryan consulted his notes. "Eccleston?"

"No idea. I was going to run DNA but they took all my samples as well."

"Is it likely one body would be totally vaporised while the other was turned into kibble?" Esposito wanted to know.

"There've been cases of people walking away from explosions while the person next to them disappeared in a red haze," Rick pointed out.

"As much as I don't want to have the same opinion as Castle, he's coincidentally correct," Perlmutter grudgingly agreed, and Rick grinned.

"Anything else?" Ryan started to close his notebook.

"He was drugged."

"What?" It was Esposito's turn to voice his surprise.

Perlmutter gave them his look. "Drugged. Narcotics were in his system."

"How can you tell?"

"I sent blood samples to be analysed before the Federal government came in, heavy-handed as usual. The report came back just now. It must have crossed and they missed it. And with the amounts the tests showed, he was more than likely unconscious."

"Enough to kill him?"

Perlmutter consulted a brown file on the counter. "Significant levels of secobarbital and flunitrazepam … let's just say it would have been borderline."

"Can you run DNA on those samples?" Ryan asked.

"They went along with the parts." Perlmutter looked pointedly at the door. "And since I no longer have a body to autopsy …"

The trio took the hint and left the ME to whatever he did when he was under-employed.

"You know, that doesn't make sense," Ryan said slowly. "Why would either man be drugged?"

"Maybe Carmody was a recreational drug user, and he accidentally OD'd," Esposito suggested.

"And his driver didn't notice his passenger was unconscious." Rick shook his head. "Even I think that's too much of a coincidence."

Ryan and Esposito shared a long look, silently agreeing with him.

* * *

It was a long day, and by the time Rick got home he felt washed out. This was not how he had envisaged this time going. In his imagination he'd seen a lot less hanging around morgues and offices, and somewhat more pillows and naked flesh. Still, he'd got one thing sorted out, and had been shopping on the way back to the loft. As he turned the key in the lock his phone trilled, and he juggled the brown paper bag as he pulled the cell from his pocket. He had to smile when he saw the caller ID. "Mother."

_"Hey, kiddo. How's the honeymoon going?"_

"Not as well as I'd hoped." He pushed the door closed with his hip and headed to the kitchen area.

_"What have you done?"_ She sounded resigned.

"Me? Nothing. Why should I have –"

_"Because I know you, Richard. I have done, for a very long time."_

Rick began to unpack, laying out the makings of the special dinner he was intending to make on the counter. "As it happens, it's nothing to do with me."

His mother might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She made the connections immediately. _"Those explosions. They're all over the radio and TV. Is Kate …?"_

He sighed heavily. "She is."

_"Oh, I'm so sorry."_

"I don't mind," he said quickly. "Seems like old times. Kate working a case. Me … not."

Martha laughed. _"I do not believe that for a second."_

He smiled. "Well, maybe I did exaggerate a little."

_"I hope you're not getting in the way."_

"Now, would I do that?"

_"Like I said darling, I know you."_

The door to the apartment opened, and Kate stepped through.

"Mom, I have to go."

_"Kate?"_

"Mmn."

_"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."_

"Even you have to agree that gives me a lot of leeway."

She laughed again. _"Richard, dear, you taken most of that leeway over the years."_ She disconnected from her end.

Rick did the same, putting the phone down on the counter and smiling at Kate. "Hey."

"Hey." She'd dropped onto the couch.

"Wine?"

"Please."

He poured two glasses then joined her, sitting so their thighs were touching. "Here."

"Thanks." She took a grateful sip.

"So?" he urged.

"So … what?"

"What did you and Agent Forsyth get up to?"

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Can't what?"

"I can't tell you anything." Kate turned her wine glass, staring at the smooth red liquid, and sighed. "Forsyth isn't happy I've even come home."

"What did he expect you to do? Stay out all night?"

"He only agreed because we're waiting for … things."

"What things?"

"I told you. I can't."

"You used to talk about your cases. Hell, I used to part of them." Annoyance blossomed inside him, and he stood up rather than let it out. "Hungry?"

"I could eat," she admitted.

"I've got steaks, all the fixings …" He stopped. "Unless you'd rather go out?"

"No, I'd rather stay in. Be with you."

"Right."

"Are you angry about something?"

"No." He got out a frying pan, banged a few pots around. "Yes, all right, I am."

"Things have changed, Rick. I'm not allowed to tell you anything. It isn't that I don't want to, but I can't."

He turned, put his hands on the counter. "Do you think I'd tell anyone I shouldn't?"

"Of course not. Except maybe … Ryan and Espo."

He had to laugh. "Were you listening in to our conversation?"

"I know you."

"Everyone seems to have that privilege," he muttered, then said out loud, "Tell you what. You tell me what you found out, I'll reciprocate."

"You'll show me yours if I show you mine?"

"Well, technically I've already seen yours, but …" He ducked as she threw a cushion at him.

"Forsyth would have my head."

"Then we won't tell him." He tossed the cushion back to her.

"Where are Maggie and James?" Kate asked, trying to derail the conversation.

His eyes narrowed, but he let her succeed for the moment. "I got a call from James earlier. Maggie wanted to get some stuff so he took her shopping."

"They weren't going back to the apartment, were they?"

"No. Not even Maggie's that crazy. He said something about waiting for her while she tried on lingerie."

"They seem to be getting on okay."

"They do." He studied her for a moment. "So what's Forsyth doing here?"

"I'm a rookie. For the next few months at least I'll be partnered up."

"With Forsyth?" He looked like there was a bad smell under his nose.

"Possibly."

"He's a jerk."

"He's an experienced Federal agent."

"That doesn't preclude him from being a jerk."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of course not!"

"You are. You're jealous."

He shook his head again, then did an odd sort of neck jiggle before nodding. "Okay. A little bit. You've only just come back to New York, Kate, and now he's going to be enjoying the time I was going to spend with you."

"I think enjoying is probably too strong a word."

"Ryan and Esposito don't like him either."

She sighed and stood up, coming around the counter so she could put her hands on his waist and turn him to face her. "I know this isn't what you had planned. It's not what _I _had planned either. I thought it was going to be lazy mornings in bed, long walks, maybe even a couple of days in the Hamptons, but … it's not my fault, Castle."

"I know." He exhaled heavily. "I know. I just … feel like I'm not part of your life at the moment."

"Of course you are. I'm here." She moved closer. "You're here." Closer still. "And we have the place to ourselves."

"Maggie and James will be back soon," he pointed out, nevertheless leaning into her and feeling her warmth along his body.

"James shouldn't have let her go out."

"You think he could have stopped her?"

"If he'd tried, yes."

"James doesn't stand a chance against Mags when she has her dander up."

"Her what?"

Rick shook his head. "And that isn't the point. Why won't you tell me about what you've found out?"

"Because I'm not allowed to."

"You sure about that?" He rotated his hips slightly, while his eyebrows appeared to be linked to his pelvis and began to dance.

She had to smile at his antics. "Even you. Besides, we don't know much at the moment."

"Much isn't the same as nothing."

"You're incorrigible."

"And sexy. Don't forget sexy." He made a face that was supposed to be that.

Kate laughed. "Okay. Just don't tell anyone else. Not even the boys."

"They won't like being kept in the dark."

"You know how this works. It's on a need to know basis."

"I need to know."

Kate exhaled, and he felt her breath caress his face. "Then just between us …"

"The body parts all came from the same individual, a man, and he was drugged."

Her jaw dropped. "How –"

"Perlmutter. And he isn't pleased either."

"How could you tell?"

"So who was it? The body?"

"We don't know. Still waiting for DNA to come back." Kate's eyebrow raised as Rick's cell chirped again. "Were you expecting a call?"

"Ignore it. If it's important they'll leave a message." He wrapped his arms around her. "I'm busy."

The ringing stopped, then immediately began again.

"They're anxious to talk to you."

He glared at her, then reached down and picked up his phone. "What?"

_"Rick?"_

"James. I'm kind of busy right –"

_"There's been an accident. Maggie's in the hospital."_


	7. Chapter 7

For a cultured museum curator at the top of his profession James looked a wreck. The collar of his shirt was stained red, and half a dozen butterfly closures decorated the right side of his face. He probably should have been hospitalised himself, but instead was pacing nervously in the corridor as they approached.

"How is she?" Rick asked, trying to see into the examination room.

James stopped and pushed both hands through his hair, a tiny fragment of shattered glass falling unnoticed like a tired star. "The doctors are still assessing her."

"And you?" Kate put a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He tried a shaky smile and indicated the cuts on his cheek. "These are nothing. Just going to make me even more ruggedly handsome."

"Hey, that's my line," Rick complained, but without heat.

"So what happened?" Kate asked, guiding James to one of the plastic seats and making him sit.

"A … uh …a truck came out of nowhere, ran into the side of the cab. Maggie's side." James swallowed hard. "It jammed us against a van, and …" He looked anguished. "I could hear Maggie moaning, and I … I couldn't get out to help her."

"James, Maggie's strong."

"I know. I know. But …" He swore, startling a young nurse walking by. "Sorry. Oh God." He buried his face in his hands.

"I get it," Kate said softly, stroking his back and feeling the tension in the muscles making them tremble. "You thought Maggie was dead, then you found out she wasn't. And now this."

"They tried again, didn't they?" James' head snapped up and fire burned in his eyes.

"I don't know."

"But you think it is. The driver ran. He didn't even wait to see if …" Anger was beginning to keep the fear at bay. "I shouldn't have let her go out."

"Castle says you couldn't stop her." She glanced up at Rick, who nodded encouragingly. "Something about her dander …"

James almost smiled. "That damn dander of hers. She's so stubborn. One day it might –" He stopped, suddenly aware of what he had been about to say.

"Coffee." Rick was firm. "You need coffee. I'll go and find some." He looked at Kate, his eyebrows raised in query, but she shook her head fractionally. "Be right back." He strode off.

"She'll be fine, James," Kate reassured him.

"Find him for me," the big man implored. "Find him and let me alone with him for just ten minutes."

The fury in him shocked her. "James –"

"Five minutes, then. Kate, don't let the … the pretence of civilisation fool you. I know how to use my fists. And it would save the city the cost of a trial."

She wasn't surprised. She'd always felt James might have a darker past than he'd admit to. "Maggie won't thank you if you get arrested."

"I don't care."

"Of course you do."

James glared at her, then his expression seemed to soften. "Kate, how come you get me, but you don't get Rick?"

"I get him. I really do."

"Not according to Maggie."

"She should mind her own business."

"She thinks it is her business. You're both her friends, and she wants to know why you're doing this to him."

Kate withheld the sigh. She didn't want to talk about it, but at least James wasn't currently threatening to bring down death and destruction on the driver of the truck. "I don't know," she admitted. "I thought I did, that this was what I wanted. And I still do. It's just …"

"Things are different now."

"Yes." She fingered the ring in her pocket. Rick had made her take it, telling her to keep it until she'd made a decision, and it wasn't just about marrying him. "This time was supposed to be a trial run. To see if we can do a long distance relationship."

"And we messed it up. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. And you didn't mess anything up. It was me. I was just so happy to see him …"

"You want more."

"I want it all." It was a revelation, just saying the words out loud.

He studied her. "You know, I've always been jealous of Maggie's relationship with Rick."

"You don't say."

He had to smile this time. "I know. Pretty obvious. But seeing you two together, you and Rick … he loves you."

"That was never in doubt."

"And you love him."

"Yes."

"Then that's all that counts. Believe me." Tiredness seemed to swamp him, and he ran a hand over his face, dislodging one of the closures.

"Here," Kate said, reaching up. "Let me." She replaced it, smoothing it gently. "Better." She looked into his blue eyes, so different to Rick's that they might as well have been a different colour altogether. "And Maggie loves you. You should have seen her when she thought you thought she was dead and she wasn't."

"If I ever untangle that sentence, I'll probably thank you."

There was a discreet cough from behind them, then, "Agent Beckett."

Kate looked around to see a familiar, black-suited figure standing twenty feet away. "Forsyth. What are you doing here?"

"Working."

"How did you find me?"

"I pinged your cell, since you apparently had it turned to voicemail."

She felt annoyance sweep through her, but held it in check. "What is it?"

Forsyth moved further away, obviously expecting her to follow him. Reluctantly Kate got to her feet, then put her hand on James' shoulder. "Rick will be back in a minute."

"I'm okay. You'd better go. He doesn't look happy."

Kate glanced at Forsyth, seeing the same implacable expression she'd already got to know. "How can you tell?" she murmured softly, then strode towards the FTF agent. "Couldn't this wait?" she asked. "My friend's in here, and –"

"This is work, Agent Beckett." He put a lot of unnecessary emphasis on _Agent_. "Some interesting information has come to light."

She wanted to sigh, then gave in and let it roll, warmed by the slightly astonished look on his face. Maybe nobody had sighed at him before. "Fine," she said, composing herself. "What information?"

For answer he walked away, forcing her again to follow.

"Where's Kate going?" Rick asked, catching sight of her disappearing around a corner just as he reached James, three plastic cups of coffee balanced in his hands.

"Someone called Forsyth, I think."

"Oh, him." Rick handed over one of the cups and set the other two on a low table. "And you might be better off not drinking that. I think they overdid the monkey pee."

James narrowed his eyes but took a mouthful anyway, feeling his tongue trying to retreat from the flavour. "God, you weren't kidding." Still, he forced the rest of it down.

"Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."

"I think it'll be a close run thing."

They shared a moment of the companionship of men everywhere in the face of appalling beverages, then looked around as someone called the author's name.

"Hey, Castle." It was Kevin Ryan, Esposito at his side as always.

"Guys." Rick gestured towards the remaining coffee cups. "Can I tempt you?"

"And have my taste buds burned out even more?" Ryan shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Esposito went so far as to pick up one of the cups and sniff the aroma, then very carefully put it back down. "That should be illegal."

"Cruel and unusual punishment," his partner agreed.

"It's not as bad as that stuff you used to drink," Rick pointed out. "Before I bought the espresso machine." He exhaled heavily. "I think I've corrupted you."

"That kind of corruption I think we can live with," Ryan said fervently.

Rick smiled faintly, then said, "I assume you're here because of Maggie."

Esposito nodded. "We can't investigate the bombings, but Carol Flanagan is still ours."

"Who?" James said, then his brain caught up. "Right. The one you thought was Maggie."

"Someone killed her, only it looks like it was a case of mistaken identity." Ryan took out his notebook. "Do you feel up to telling us what happened?"

James was about to go over it again when the door opened and an older man stepped out, wearing a white coat over his scrubs. He was on his feet immediately. "Doctor?"

"Mr Congreve, your wife is going to be fine." The man smiled. "She's got cuts and bruises, but nothing major. She's very lucky. We wanted to run a few tests, mainly because of the pregnancy, but she's –"

"The what?"

"Her pregnancy. And we want her to stay a couple of days, just for observation … whoa there." The last was as he reached out to stop James from slipping to the floor. Rick stepped forwards to take the other side, and they guided him back to the chair. "She's fine, Mr Congreve."

"I … uh … don't think it's that," Rick said.

"Oh. You didn't know?"

James looked shell-shocked. "I'm … I'm going to be a … father?"

"You are." The doctor glanced at his watch. "Now, I have other patients to see. They'll be taking your wife to a private room shortly, but I'm sure she'd like to see you before then. I'll be back to check in on her in a while." He smiled again, then strolled off, patting his pockets as if he'd forgotten something.

"Congratulations," Ryan said, beaming. "Maggie and Jenny can compare notes."

"R … right," James stammered, then reached for one of the coffees and gulped it down, not even noticing the foul taste.

Rick chuckled. "I'm going to find Kate," he said. "Tell her the good news."

James waved a hand but didn't really notice.

* * *

Forsyth took Kate to a small side room, currently unoccupied. At least, the bed was stripped, but a man in khaki was standing by the window, looking out into the evening. He turned as they entered and Kate got a good look at him as Forsyth made the introductions.

"Colonel Andrew Gault, Agent Kate Beckett."

They shook hands, taking a moment to appraise each other. Kate saw a man in his sixties, still strong, still fit, with a head of thick salt and pepper hair cut short around his ears, but slightly longer on top. As tall as Castle, she'd have known he was a military man even without the fatigues, holding himself almost to attention.

There was something about him that seemed familiar, and it was a jolt to realise it was because he looked like an actor in some sci-fi TV programme Castle had made her watch in retaliation for the Nebula-9 marathon and the Creever mask. He said it was to further enhance her cultural education, but she knew better. Still, Gault did resemble this actor, Richard something or other. Older, of course, but quite attractive in a carved granite sort of way.

"Colonel." She looked at Forsyth. "Do you want to bring me up to speed?"

It was Gault who answered, naturally taking control. "I'm here because of the explosive used in the two bombings," he said, his voice low, but probably capable of being heard from one side of a parade ground to the other.

"The RDX."

He nodded. "Dangerous stuff."

"Particularly in the hands of someone who knows how to use it." She didn't mind playing this game, sure that Colonel Gault was sizing her up as much as she had done him.

"Indeed." He seemed satisfied. "I've been called in because I'm heavily involved in investigating the … misappropriation of government property."

"Is that army speak for things have been going missing?"

Gault smiled, and for a moment Kate saw something else familiar about him that had nothing to do with science fiction. "That might well be, Agent Beckett."

"And you think the RDX used in these explosions came from your … misappropriated property?"

"I've been working on this for some time, but even I can't figure out how long we've been …" He was clearly annoyed at not having all the information, but went on, "All the records appear to be meticulous, with proper authorisations and approvals for goods coming in and going out, but when a visual count has been made, the stock doesn't agree. It's been virtually impossible to tell at what point it's gone missing."

"Just RDX?"

"No. Weapons, ammo … a veritable smorgasbord of destruction." He snorted. "About the only think we haven't lost is a tank, and I'm not counting those particular chickens yet."

Kate found herself warming to this straight-talking man. "There are other ways of buying explosives. What makes you think this is yours?"

Forsyth stirred, possibly about to say something, but a glance from Gault made him settle again.

"Because as of three months ago we've added a radioactive tag to certain deliveries." He almost twinkled. "And it looks like it worked."

Kate sat on the edge of the unmade bed, letting the facts come together in her head. "Do you have a suspect?"

"Might do."

"Is he likely to be the bomber?"

"I doubt it."

"Colonel, I've never been good at pulling teeth."

He laughed. "Sorry. I've worked in military intelligence for a long time – we're trained in not giving a straight answer."

Kate smiled. "It would be helpful if you tried."

He thought for a moment, considering his options, then said, "Sergeant Miles Feydeau. An accident waiting to happen if ever I saw one."

"Then why haven't you arrested him?"

"Because until now I've had no proof. And I can have men go out and count the boxes until they're blue in the face, but if the computer says everything is there, then nobody's been arguing." He looked faintly disgusted.

"So he's a computer geek?"

"No. That would be his friend, Sergeant Daniel O'Donoghue." He almost smacked his lips. "They've finally made the mistake I've been waiting for."

"Kate?" Rick put his head around the door. "Sorry, but I thought you'd want to know …" He stopped, his gaze falling on Gault. "Colonel?" If his jaw could have dropped to the floor it would have.

Gault looked at him. "Do I know you, son?"

"Uh, yes. Sort of. We met once, a long time ago."

"I don't think –"

"Castle, can't this wait?" Kate hissed.

"You don't understand," Rick insisted. "This is Maggie's father."


	8. Chapter 8

Gault's face cleared. "You're that writer. Richard Castle." He held out his hand.

Rick didn't take it. "Did you come to see Maggie?" he blurted out instead.

"Maggie? You mean Alexis?"

"Her name's Maggie. And yes, I mean her. Because if you did I doubt very much she'd want to see you."

"She's here?"

Forsyth interrupted. "Excuse me. Mr Castle, this is a private conversation."

Rick ignored him. "She was in a car accident, but she's going to be fine. That's what I came to tell Beckett." If looks could kill Gault would be needing Lanie's services very shortly. "Not that you care."

Gault looked levelly at him, his expression giving nothing away. "You know nothing about me, son."

"No? And do not call me _son._"

"I could have you arrested for interfering in a Federal investigation." Forsyth wasn't going to leave it alone.

"Try it." Rick didn't even glance at him.

Kate wouldn't have been surprised to see frost forming in the air around them, but it was Gault who broke gaze first.

"I need a coffee," he said, turning on his heel and walking out of the door.

Forsyth followed, leaving Rick and Kate alone in the room.

"Kate, what's he doing here?" Rick asked urgently. "How did he know about Maggie?"

"He didn't." Kate looked as confused as he felt. "He's here because of … something else. But _that's_ Maggie's father?"

Rick nodded tightly. "She changed her name to her mother's, a long time ago. When that bastard …"

Maggie had told Kate some of what happened, how when she'd got into some trouble at college her father had washed his hands of her. She hadn't been more specific, just adding that Rick had come to her rescue, getting the real culprits to confess. Neither of them had ever said how.

"He seemed to be okay," she admitted slowly.

"Okay? The man left his own daughter to … he disowned her, Kate!"

She'd rarely seen him angry. Hurt, upset, frustrated beyond belief, but anger wasn't usually part of his repertoire, and she wondered if some of it was actually directed at his own father. "Well, I have to work with him."

"On the bombings?"

"Yes." She sighed. "We may have caught a break on them."

"The bombers?"

Kate shook her head. "Rick, you know I can't tell you."

There it was, the frustration, with a side order of disgust. "And you think it's a coincidence?"

"What?"

"Maggie almost gets killed then her father turns up?"

For a moment Kate considered his words, then said as calmly as possible, "Coincidences happen all the time."

"Of course they do." Rick glared at her, then dropped onto the unmade bed. "Damn it, Kate. What the hell is going on?"

She had to give him something. "He thinks he knows who sold the RDX."

Rick wasn't stupid, and while putting two and two together sometimes came up with a miniature gun firing ice bullets, he was right more often than he was wrong. "So it was stolen from the army."

"Looks like it."

"How much?"

"We didn't really get into that much detail."

Rick tugged his cellphone from his pocket. "Thank God Alexis is out of the country."

"Who are you calling?"

He speed-dialled. "My mother. Telling her to stay in the Hamptons."

"You think there might be more bombs?" She sat down next to him.

"Don't you?"

"I … don't know." Something had been nagging at her, but whatever it was stayed just out of reach.

"Well, I'm not going to take any chances." He glared at the cellphone. "Damn, it's going to voicemail."

She leaned over and brushed her lips across his cheek before standing. "Leave a message. And I have to go back to work."

He looked up. "Kate –"

"I'll see you later." She blew him a kiss and left the room.

Rick could feel his teeth grinding, and it took an effort to make his jaw relax enough to tell his mother's answerphone that she should stay at his house in the Hamptons, and that if she really wanted she could invite her friends over. "Try not to get lime wedges embedded in the walls this time," he added, before saying, "I love you," and signing off.

He sighed and put the cell away. He knew coincidences happened, and he couldn't be a writer without using them in his plots. But something about this felt off, as if the other boot was about to drop, or he was only seeing vague shapes out in the fog and couldn't yet tell if it was an ice-cream van or Jack the Ripper.

His brow furrowed. _Ice-cream van_? Where the hell had that come from?

Another sigh worked its way up, but he continued to sit, brooding on events, and wondering if Kate knew she was probably going to need his help before this was all over.

* * *

Kate had found Forsyth at the nurses' station a little way along, talking quietly on his cellphone, and he had indicated with a wave of his hand towards one of the side corridors. She followed his vague directions to find Gault standing outside a room, his arms crossed, staring in through the blinds. She joined him, looking in to see what he saw.

"Ah."

Maggie lay in the bed, James sitting next to her, their fingers tangled together.

"My daughter, Agent Beckett," Gault said softly. "She's grown into quite a woman."

"Why don't you go in and tell her that?"

He shook his head. "Too much water under too many bridges."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, but I do." He paused. "She's better off."

"Shouldn't she be the judge of that?"

"Are you close to yours?" He was obviously trying to divert the conversation.

"Yes." Nights of wondering if he was going to come home drunk again, grieving for the death of her mother, while all she could do was make coffee and let him talk for hours. "I probably don't see enough of him, though."

"I don't see her at all. This is the closest I've been in years."

"You're her father."

"Not for a long time." He shook his head. "Ali's better off."

It took her a moment to realise he meant Maggie – nobody called her Alexis, her given name, using the contraction from Maguire instead, although Rick's own daughter had been named after her. "Sir, I –"

"And you're not to tell her I looked in."

Movement in the room took their attention.

James stood up and leaned over, kissing Maggie on the lips, just a tender brush before smiling and leaving the room. He stopped when he saw Kate and Gault.

"Oh. Hi."

"How is she?" Kate asked.

"Annoyed with me for not letting her go home." James smiled ruefully. "I might have to tie her to the bed."

"Your sexual fantasies have nothing to do with me."

James laughed, a welcome sound, then glanced at Gault, obviously wondering why Kate hadn't introduced them. He looked back at her. "Look, I have to … you know."

She smiled. "Go on. I think it's down there."

"Thanks. And perhaps you could sit with Maggie until I come back? Add the weight of your argument to her staying put?"

"Sure."

James grinned quickly, then hurried off, a slight limp indicating maybe he'd twisted his ankle in the accident as well.

"Is that her husband?" Gault asked.

"James Congreve. Yes. He's a good man."

"And she's happy?"

"Yes. But why don't you go in?" Kate suggested. "Ask her yourself."

"No." The older man took a deep breath. "No, I don't think so."

"You don't know what she might say. She might be happy to see you."

"Agent Beckett, your friend was right. I wouldn't be welcome." He turned slowly, glancing through the window just once before striding away, his back for once not ramrod straight, but hunched in thought.

Kate shook her head, and wondered if all men were messed up, or just the ones she'd had dealings with. She stepped into the room. "Hey."

Maggie looked up from where she was picking at the edge of a plaster cast on her right arm. "Hey." She smiled.

"How are you feeling?" Kate sat down in the chair James had vacated.

"Fine. Honestly." She touched the cast. "But I won't be writing for a while."

"Hire a secretary."

Maggie laughed. "James said the same thing. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't composing the advertisement right now."

Kate grinned, then sobered a little. "But you're okay otherwise."

"Cuts and bruises. I think the doctors are being a bit … damn, what's the word?"

"And you call yourself a writer?"

"I've been in a car accident. I think I'm allowed to be forgetful." She smiled. "Cautious. That's it. They're being cautious. First time mother, my age … I can understand it."

"And you're fighting them all the way," Kate hazarded.

"I hate hospitals." It was just a statement of fact.

"I don't think I know anyone who actually likes being a patient."

"I suppose not."

"Congratulations, by the way. Now it's official."

Maggie put her hand on her stomach. "Thanks. I still don't believe it."

"Wait until you get so you can't see your feet, then you will."

"More likely when he gets to his first birthday." Maggie picked at a fragment of plaster. "It wasn't, was it?"

"Wasn't what?"

"An accident. What happened to James and me."

"No." There was no point in lying. "From what I've been told, no, it wasn't."

"So poor Carol Flanagan really was killed because they thought she was me."

"Hey." Kate leaned forward and took her hand. "Stop it. Do not go blaming yourself. It wasn't your fault. Whoever did this pulled the trigger, not you."

"Right."

"We'll catch them, I promise."

A slight smile lifted Maggie's lips. "We?"

"Okay, the boys will."

Maggie chuckled. "You picked a hell of a time to become a Fed, Kate."

"Mmn. But the truth is, there'd always have been another murder."

"True. Human beings surely do like slaughtering each other. But then again, if they didn't, Rick and I would both be out of a job."

"Me too."

"We could buy a chicken ranch. Raise bantams together," Maggie suggested.

"Good idea." Kate grinned again. "But what about James?"

"He'd bring in enough money to pay the bills. And be referee."

They laughed together, then Kate said, "Life would certainly be simpler."

"But a lot duller." Maggie gestured down towards Kate's hand. "Can I see it?"

"I suppose." Kate took the ring from her pocket and handed it over.

Maggie turned it first one way then the other, catching the overhead lights in the faceting. "He always did have good taste."

"In some things."

Maggie smiled. "You know, I don't mind admitting that I was worried at first about you two. That the only reason he was chasing you was because you were running. I mean, he's rich, ruggedly handsome, even if he does say so himself, successful … since that first bestseller he's never had a problem getting women. And then you came along and you didn't fall at his feet."

"Did you?"

"No. But I knew him before the money and the fame."

"Has he changed that much?"

"Not really. But he _was_ intrigued by you, and I was afraid that was why he kept hanging around. And maybe it would have been just a fling if you'd given in during that first six months."

"And now?" Kate asked, not sure if she really wanted to know the answer but needing to hear it from Rick's oldest friend.

"He loves you. More than I ever saw with Meredith or Gina."

"That nice to know."

"Ah damning with faint praise. You have no idea how much we writers hate the word 'nice'."

Kate laughed. "Sorry."

"And Rick's grown up. A bit, anyway."

"And James? Is he grown up?"

Maggie leaned forwards, as if sharing a great secret. "I don't think any man grows up totally," she stage-whispered.

"That's not an answer."

"I'd …" Maggie paused, biting her lip. "There are times I'd like him to be more spontaneous, but …"

"But he left LA as soon as he got that phone call."

"Yes." A slow smile lit Maggie's face, like the sun coming out. "He did. He even dropped a very important meeting to come here, and when I suggested he might like to reschedule he swore at me."

"He loves you."

"I know."

"And do you love him?"

"Oddly enough, yes."

"More than Rick?" It was something Kate had always wanted to know, but had never thought it politic to ask.

Forsyth chose that moment to stick his head into the room. "Agent Beckett. We have to leave. Now."

Maggie waved her free hand. "Go. Save the world."

Kate stood up. "I'll come back. See how you're doing."

"That would be nice." She smiled at her own use of the word, waiting until her friend was at the door. "And Kate?"

"What?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"The answer to your question. I'll never stop loving Rick, but James is … here. And it's different. And … yes. I love him more."

Something seemed to relax inside Kate's chest. "Get some sleep."

"Yes, mother."

Kate grinned and walked into the corridor, not surprised to see James standing there, a look of stunned wonder on his face. She didn't say anything, just squeezed his arm before following Forsyth.

* * *

The night was warm, the air not particularly refreshing. The weather girls were forecasting a mini-heatwave, with temperatures and humidity set to soar, and while Kate loved New York, she wasn't looking forward to having to work in a suit. Maybe she could plead lack of clothes, that she'd left all her workwear back in DC, although she was pretty sure Forsyth would take a dim view of her in jeans and a t-shirt.

He'd gone to get the car, leaving Kate and Gault waiting at the hospital entrance.

"So," Gault began. "Are you and that writer a couple?"

She tried not to bristle at him being called _that writer_. "His name's Richard Castle."

"I know. And are you?"

"Yes. Yes, we are."

"I thought as much. There's something between two people who are in love that's hard to miss. Even when one of them is glaring at me like he'd have liked to see me burst into flames."

"You can't be surprised."

"I'm not. The only time we met he told me exactly what he thought of me. Quite eloquent for the young man he was then. I suppose that was the literary side coming through."

"Did you deserve it?"

"Probably." Gault looked at her, the shadows making the planes of his face stand out sharply. "You have no idea what it was like, trying to bring up a girl without her mother. And I did a very bad job of it."

"Maggie's a wonderful woman."

"I imagine that's in spite of me, not because of." His mouth tightened. "But tell me about you and Castle. How long have you been dating?"

Kate couldn't help the slight smile. _Dating_ sounded so old-fashioned, as if they would go out and hold hands, nothing more, until he saw her home and gave her a very chaste kiss on her closed lips. Considering what they'd been up to most of the day she got home, _chaste _was definitely not the right word for it, not now he'd caught her. "A little over a year. But we've known each other considerably longer."

"And it is love?"

"Yes."

"Good. Make it work. No matter what you have to do. You don't want to end up like me, a grouchy old man with nobody home to care."

"And how much of that is your fault?"

He stared at her then laughed, and again the resemblance to Maggie was surprisingly strong. "Agent Beckett, you are refreshingly direct."

"I'm tired. And just call me Beckett. Or Kate. It'll be easier."

"Okay. Kate." He nodded towards a large black sedan making its way towards them. "There he is."

He had to be right, it was the only vehicle moving at that hour, but something was wrong, and as the car slowed Kate caught a glint of metal inside. Without thinking she tackled Gault, taking him to the ground, just as gunshots broke the silence of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

"Kate! Kate! Are you alright?" It was Rick, running into the emergency room and skidding to a halt at the sight of her.

"I'm fine." She smiled for him just to prove it.

"But …" He pointed to a stain of red on her blouse.

"Not mine. Gault's."

"Is he –"

"No, I'm not." Colonel Andrew Gault stepped out of the exam room, starting to pull his fatigue jacket back on but wincing. "Maybe not," he murmured, straightening his left arm and twisting it around, his bicep wrapped in a fresh bandage. "And I'd really like to get out of here."

"Should you be standing up?"

"I've been shot before, Mr Castle," Gault said. "And this was only a graze."

"We'd rather you stayed overnight, Colonel," the doctor said who had followed him out. "It may be a graze but –"

"Doc, I've been shot before. And I heal quickly. And I didn't come to New York to be molly-coddled by nurses, however pretty they are." He gave a sly grin to one of them passing by, and she pinked up and almost dropped the file she was carrying.

"Colonel, a man of your age should be –"

"Man of my age should be taking it easy, I know. But I'm not dead yet." He slapped the doctor on the arm. "So if you want me to sign something saying I left against medical advice, fine. But I'm not staying."

The doctor sighed and shook his head. "Fine. Do what you want. I wash my hands of you." He walked away, muttering under his breath something about not being allowed to do his job, everybody thinking they knew better, and why the hell had he spent all that time in medical school.

"But you're okay?" Rick asked Kate again, unable to keep the relief off his face or out of his voice.

"I promise."

"Did you see who it was?" Rick wanted to know, looking from one to the other.

Kate shook her head. "Black sedan, tinted windows … if they hadn't had to lower one of them to get a clear shot we'd probably be dead."

"Don't say that, Kate," Rick implored, his mind all too easily throwing up the memory of her laying on the grass at the cemetery, her white gloves stained red.

She knew what he was thinking. "Sorry, Castle. And I'm fine."

"And I'm grateful," Gault put in. "I get the feeling you saved my life."

"My job," Kate said.

"Still, you're a friend of my daughter's, so I'm pretty sure you could have quite happily left me to bleed out on the pavement."

Rick opened his mouth to say something, then jammed it shut just as quickly. Now was not the time to let his feelings get in the way and kickstart an argument.

Ryan bustled up. "Javi's getting the surveillance tapes from the car park. We might be able to get a look at whoever shot at you."

Gault smiled grimly. "Oh, I know."

"Feydeau?" Kate suggested.

"Who?" Ryan asked.

Forsyth took a step forward, making his presence known. "I think that's enough. This case will come under the Federal Task Force jurisdiction."

"I don't think so." Kate surprised him. "The bombings, fine. But you don't know if this is connected. It might be someone with a grudge against me, from when I was a cop. So until we're sure, I think the NYPD should handle it."

"That isn't the way we –" Forsyth began, but Gault interrupted.

"She's right." Two words, but they were in the tone of a man used to being obeyed. "All these incidences could well be connected, but that's not what you're looking into. RDX, Feydeau, maybe even a master plan to blow up the UN for all we know, but if we spread our net too wide we'll be in danger of letting the real bad guys get away."

Forsyth looked like he was about to argue, then nodded once, a sharp downwards motion of his head that should have left him with whiplash. "Very well. Keep us in the loop, detective." This last was to Ryan, and wasn't a request. "I'll get the car."

"I think I'll stay inside until you do," Gault said, a slight tilt to his lips. "If you don't mind."

"Of course." Forsyth hurried away.

"That man makes me feel tired just watching him," Gault commented.

Kate smiled. "I know exactly what you mean."

"So what now?" Rick asked, deliberately turning a cold shoulder on the soldier.

"You go home." She wished she could too.

"No, now, wait …" Rick shook his head. "I can help. Talk over ideas. Like we used to."

"I can't, you know that."

"It isn't fair." He knew he sounded like a little boy, frustrated in his attempts to persuade a parent a third stick of cotton candy was really a good idea, but he couldn't help it. "James and Maggie, now this …"

She put her hand on his arm. "Please. Go home."

"I can wait."

"I don't know how long I'll be."

"Kate …"

"Please." She gazed into his blue eyes, willing him to understand that she knew he was worried about her, that any time she was involved in gun play, even as a spectator, was going to remind him of Montgomery's funeral, but that she was going to be careful, and not only because she had him to come home to.

"Okay," he said grudgingly, but with a tentative lift of his mouth. "I'll wait up."

"I'd like that."

Gault coughed slightly. "Agent Beckett? Shall we?"

For a moment longer Kate and Rick exchanged one of those looks that meant so much more than just _seeing_ each other, then – not caring if anyone saw or what they might think – she kissed him softly before walking away, her long stride taking her quickly around the corner and out of sight.

"I can see why you like her," Gault murmured.

"More than like," Rick admitted.

"I noticed." He looked at Rick. "I know what you think of me."

"You really don't."

"Mr Castle, there were reasons."

Rick turned on him, his voice low, intense. "For abandoning her when she needed you most? That's not being a father. That's being a bastard."

Gault went to respond, then stopped himself. No point in getting maudlin over the past, and events he couldn't change. Instead he nodded to the two men then followed Kate without another word.

"What was all that about?" Ryan asked, confusion making his forehead crease.

"Nothing," Rick said. "Absolutely nothing at all."

* * *

He was waiting for her when she finally came home. "Hey," he said tenderly from behind the kitchen counter.

"Hey." Kate dropped unceremoniously onto the sofa and kicked off her shoes.

He crossed to her and held out a glass of wine. "Here. I think you need this."

"Thanks." She sipped, then put her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

Sitting down next to her he asked, somewhat diffidently, "So where's Gault?"

"My place. I thought it was better than the hotel Forsyth suggested."

"And he went for it?"

"Nobody's likely to come looking for him there."

"Good job I kept it aired."

"Mmn."

He waited a beat, then said, "Want to talk about it?"

"I can't."

He was beginning to hate those two little words. Well, three if he was being pedantic. Or semantic. Even if two of them were a contraction. "Then in general. What have you been doing for the last …" He glanced at the clock. "… three and a half hours?"

She opened her eyes to look at him. "Okay. In general terms." She smiled as he scooted closer. "We went to an office in the Federal building, where Forsyth insisted on taking us both through the events of the evening with a fine tooth comb, despite the case being handled by the NYPD."

"How many times?"

"I lost count."

"Did you come up with anything?"

"Nothing more than we already had." Kate rolled her shoulders, trying to shift some stiffness there. "Then some results came back on two possible suspects."

"Feydeau?" Rick hazarded.

"Do you forget _anything_?" she asked with a sigh but a tilt to her lips.

"Anniversaries, mostly. And my mother's birthday one year."

"I bet that didn't go down well."

"That's an understatement. I had to do a lot of making up, and so did my credit card." He smiled. "And stop trying to change the subject."

She laughed. "Busted, huh?"

"Irretrievably."

She sighed again, but nodded this time as well. "He's one of them."

"A soldier?"

"Mmn. Only we can't find him because he's on furlough. Him and his friend."

"Aren't soldiers supposed to inform their … whoever … where they're going to be?"

"Supposed to, but these two have dropped off the radar."

"Can't you track their cells?"

"Not turned on."

"Can't you turn them back on? Like Agent … what was his name? … the man in black did that time we got caught up with aliens."

"I don't think they … _we_ have access to that equipment." She twisted her shoulder again.

"Then you'll find them. I have absolute faith in you."

"That's nice." Again with the roll.

Rick got up and walked behind the couch. "Here." His fingers pressed strongly into her shoulders.

"Oh, that feels wonderful."

He leaned down and breathed in her ear, "Come to bed and I'll give you my patented all body massage."

"Rick, I think I'm too tired."

"Then we'll just sleep."

"I need to shower."

"Tomorrow. I don't think I'll mind sleeping next to your sweaty body for one night."

"No. I'll feel better."

"Then I'll wash your back."

"I told you, I'm too tired."

"I promise no hanky panky." He came around in front of her and took her hand, tugging her to her feet.

"Why don't I believe you?" she asked when they were face to face.

"Not sure. Because you know me?"

"That must be it." She let him pull her towards the bedroom.

* * *

"You will help us."

The man strapped to the chair was panting, sweat pouring down his face, grateful for the brief respite from the pain, but knowing it was just that – a respite. "You're … insane," he managed to grind out.

"No. My friend here … perhaps." Hanover looked across to where Chenkov was rearranging his instruments. "And believe me, he know more ways of causing … discomfort … than you or I have had hot meals."

"And that's … supposed to be a … good thing?"

"No." Hanover smiled, but it was cold, not reaching his eyes. "It's to remind you that he can go on for hours, days perhaps. You can't. Much better to agree now, before he really gets going."

"_Gets_ … going?"

Hanover sighed deeply, shaking his head slowly. "You will give in. Everyone does. So do it now, and know that you'll be able to walk out of here, instead of crawl."

Chenkov turned from the table, something that looked like tiny pliers in his hand.

Carmody whimpered.

* * *

Kate came out of the bedroom into the living area, surprised to see Rick already dressed, and not in t-shirt and sweat pants. He was wearing jeans, admittedly, but they were black, and his shirt was one of her favourites, the dark purple one with very fine red lines in it.

"Breakfast?" he asked, holding up a frying pan.

"Depends. What is it? And why are you up and running?"

"I have somewhere to be this morning." He smiled mysteriously.

"Where?"

"That's on a need to know basis." This time it was the eyebrows that waggled.

"Fine. Don't tell me."

"There's coffee in the jug on the table," he said, then added, "It's going to kill you, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Not knowing."

"Not knowing what?"

"Where I'm going today."

"No, not really." She poured herself a mug and took a mouthful, swirling it around her mouth before swallowing.

"Kate, Kate, you can claim that you're not intensely curious as much as you like. I know better."

She shook her head. "I'm not your keeper."

His eyes narrowed. "Then I won't tell you."

"Fine." A smile flitted across her face.

He'd seen. "You didn't answer about breakfast."

"Depends on what you're cooking."

"Omelette?"

"What's inside? Some of your creations …" She shuddered theatrically.

"I'm an excellent cook."

Crossing back to the counter she leaned her elbows on it. "Keep telling yourself that."

He grinned. "What do you fancy, then?"

"Actually, this is enough." She lifted the mug. "I'm not really hungry."

"You're not eating enough."

"Tonight," she promised. "One way or the other, we'll sit down to a proper meal. Okay?"

"Well …"

"Deal?" She held out her hand.

He looked at it as if it might bite him, then he took it and shook. "Deal." Then he pulled until she was across the counter, and kissed her thoroughly.

"I have to go to work, Castle," she murmured against his lips.

He said something very derogatory about her work, then added, "Tonight."

"Tonight."

He let go, watching her take another huge gulp of coffee before putting the mug back on the counter and almost running out, waving at the door before it closed behind her.

Rick sighed mightily, then glanced round at the chocolate bars and marshmallows next to the hob behind him. She didn't know what she was missing.

* * *

Esposito tagged up the grainy picture onto the murder board.

"Is that the best they could do?" Ryan asked, peering at it. "You can only just make out it's a car."

"The cameras are due to be replaced," his partner explained, equally frustrated. "Not soon enough, I'd say."

"What about the traffic cams around the hospital? Anything from them?"

"Techs pulled this." A second photograph joined the first. "Late model Cadillac, illegal windows, and the licence plate has been obscured."

"So nothing."

"Not a damn thing."

"What about the garage under Maggie's place? Where Carol Flanagan was murdered? Anything from CSU?" Ryan wanted to know.

Esposito snorted. "The lab's backed up."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into annoyed silence, broken by another voice.

"I knew you missed me, but this is … great."

The partners turned as one to see Rick standing at the entrance to the bullpen, covered paper coffee cups in his hands.

"Castle?" Ryan glanced at Esposito. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to give you the benefit of my huge and bountiful imagination." He crossed to them and held out the cups. "Don't get used to this, by the way."

They each took one, sniffing the gentle aroma as it made its way out of the small hole.

"You mean you're back working?" Esposito asked, trying to get to the truth at the bottom of the coffee cup.

"That he is, Detective." It was Captain Gates, her dark face as serious as ever, her arms crossed in front of her like an impervious shield. "I've just had the Mayor's office on the line, Mr Castle. It seems that you've called in a few more favours."

"His Honour likes the way I promote New York in my books," Rick said, trying his most charming smile. "And what with another Nikki Heat novel in the pipeline …"

"Yes, well." Gates' arms tightened even more, the charm bouncing off her. "Just remember you don't have Detective Beckett to run interference for you any longer. One wrong move, one … embarrassing moment, and you're out, no matter what the Mayor says. Understand?"

Rick nodded. "I understand. And I'll be on my best behaviour."

"That I doubt." She headed back to her office. "I doubt that very much." The door closed with a finality that sounded like the knell of doom.

Ryan was grinning. "Glad you're back," he said.

"Thanks." Rick turned to Esposito. "What about you? Are you pleased to see me?"

The Latino detective looked him up and down. "You might be useful at that."

"That's me. Useful." He looked at the murder board. "So, where are we?"

"Nowhere."

"What?" Rick gazed from one to the other. "You must have something."

"Not so's you'd notice," Ryan admitted, just as Velazquez crossed the bull pen and handed him a buff folder.

"CSU report on the Flanagan murder," she said, giving Rick a quick smile before vanishing again.

"Well?" Esposito asked, moving round to look over his partner's shoulder.

Ryan smiled grimly. "Bingo."

* * *

Kate got out of the car and looked at the warehouses stretching into the distance along the dock. "Are you sure about this?"

Forsyth climbed a little stiffly from the driver's seat. "O'Donoghue used his cell to call his girlfriend. He switched it off again straight after, but it was long enough to get a location."

"Would he be that stupid?"

Gault, who had appeared from the back of the car, laughed. "Daniel was never exactly renowned for his intelligence. Despite his prowess with computers he's more the brawns to Feydeau's brains. And the finger on the trigger, too."

Kate looked at him sharply, about to ask if O'Donoghue was likely to take potshots at people out of car windows, when Forsyth started towards the buildings, keeping to the wall and out of the sun as much as possible. They had no choice but to follow.

"If they are here, we need back-up," she said quietly.

"We can take them," Forsyth said just as softly.

"Agent Forsyth, that's a truly stupid frame of mind," Gault said. "If they've got half of what I suspect they've stolen in there with them, they could start a small war.

For a moment Forsyth looked uncertain, then his resolve concreted over again. "Then we reconnoitre. We don't go in. There's no point in starting anything unless we're sure they're here." He slowed, then looked around a corner, just a brief glance. "That's the one." He pointed.

"How can you be sure?"

Forsyth looked at her. "I'm sure."

She nodded. No point in arguing, not right now anyway. Instead she drew her gun, knowing it was fully loaded from the feel, even if she hadn't checked the magazine herself earlier, and moved past Forsyth at a crouch, slipping into the darker shadows. She was good at this, being in the front, and as much as she knew Forsyth was well-trained, she didn't _know_ him, and right now wasn't going to put her trust in a man she hadn't worked with before.

She could almost feel Forsyth's glare on the back of her neck, but movement in the air suggested he was right behind her, Gault probably bringing up the rear, no doubt a smile tugging at his mouth.

This end of the docks were deserted, the economic recession closing down importers and exporters alike and leaving warehouses and their contents mouldering gently in the summer morning.

A small shack nestled against the side of the warehouse in question looked like an office, although the glass in the windows was broken, evidence of mindless vandalism or perhaps determined spite. She straightened up enough to peer into the semi-darkness, but there was nothing inside except a broken chair perched on a dusty table. Certainly no sign of any weapons or explosives.

She was about to say this to the others when a slight movement caught her attention through the windows the other side of the office.

"Someone's there." Kate's voice was barely even a whisper as she raised her gun, her feet making no noise as she slid along the wall. Taking a breath, she paused only a moment before swinging around, her weapon aimed and her finger ready to take the final tension out of the trigger.

The man in the bullet-proof vest threw his hands into the air, ejaculating, "Whoa!"

Kate's jaw dropped. "Castle?"

* * *

**A.N.: **Sorry for the lack of a chapter last week - I've been away and not close to a computer keyboard. I hope this has made up for it! Jane0904


	10. Chapter 10

For a long, and (she had to admit) scary moment, Kate wondered if she'd finally gone crazy, if her love for Castle had somehow unhinged her and she was now destined to forever see him everywhere she turned. She stared at the author, standing there in his vest, the word WRITER emblazoned across him. As if anyone was likely to forget.

"What are you doing here?" she finally hissed.

"Having a heart attack." Rick had grasped at his chest in a melodramatic fashion. "And I could ask you the same question."

"We're after the guys selling the RDX."

"And we're chasing Carol Flanagan's murderer," Esposito said quietly, stepping into view from the shadows beside a gaping doorway. He looked at Rick. "Could you make a bit more noise? I don't think they heard you."

"Sorry. She startled me. _They_ startled me," Rick added, seeing Forsyth and Gault for the first time.

"Carol Flanagan's killer?" Kate asked Esposito.

"CSU came up with some trace from next to Maggie's car, a chemical residue mixed with a special kind of flame retardant. The only company that imported both of them used to own this warehouse until they went bust in the recession."

"CSU are good."

"You just have to know how to ask nicely."

"And stop flirting with Barrett. Lanie'll get jealous."

Esposito gave her one of his looks, then said, "We think they're inside."

"Where's Ryan?"

"The other side, checking if there's a less vulnerable way in."

"There isn't." The Irish cop slid up behind Gault. "Locked tighter than a leprechaun's purse. We'd have to break in, and that would be noisy. This looks the only way." He glanced at the open door, the darkness beyond inky and menacing.

"Then we wait," Kate decided. "Did you call for back-up?"

Esposito nodded. "Of course. Be here in ten."

"We still don't know anyone's inside," Forsyth pointed out.

Kate was about to respond when the wooden wall of the lean-to next to her face seemed to explode, followed a nano-second later by the sharp report of a rifle.

They all ducked back.

"Where?" Kate asked.

Esposito, an expert from his experience with Special Forces, said, "High. One of the top windows, to the left."

Rick looked at Forsyth. "You were saying?"

The Federal agent ignored him.

Kate took charge. "Ryan, Espo … get to the other side. We need to try and keep them penned in until back-up gets here."

"Alive, Agent Beckett." Forsyth checked his gun, one of the latest Sig Sauers. "We need them alive."

"I know." She looked at Gault. "Are you armed?"

Gault nodded, drawing a small handgun from somewhere inside his fatigues. "Not exactly an RPG but it'll do."

Kate glanced at Forsyth. "Make your way along to the end. I don't want to find out there's another exit we didn't cover. And give me the car keys."

He looked as if he was about to argue, but instead handed them over before heading off on surprisingly silent feet.

"You know, that was probably Feydeau who shot at you," Gault said conversationally. "O'Donoghue wouldn't have missed."

"Nice to know." She wasn't really listening, but was peering around the corner trying to gauge the likelihood of being able to make it to the open door without getting shot. Two bullets raising the hair on her head as they whined past gave her the answer. "He's not that bad," she said. "And Espo's right – he's up at the top. Gives him a perfect view of the entrance."

"Then Javi was lucky Feydeau wasn't in place a few minutes earlier," Rick observed.

An engine began to rev inside.

"That black sedan?" Gault suggested. "The one they used to take pot shots at us from?"

"I don't know," Kate admitted. "Sounds heavier. But one way or the other, if they're planning on forcing their way out, we probably won't be able to stop them." She held out the keys to Rick. "Here. Find my car and block the exit from the dock."

He stared at her. "No. Kate, I –"

"I don't have time to argue. And stay close to the car but not in it, just in case they take it into their heads to ram it. But be ready to move it when the back-up gets here."

Rick swallowed but took the keys. "Are you wearing a vest?" he asked.

"No." She was annoyed at herself for allowing Forsyth to put her in this position by hurrying matters, but just added, "It's in the trunk."

Rick tugged the Velcro straps apart and pulled it over his head. "Here."

"It's too big."

"I don't care."

She gazed at him for a moment, then took it. "Okay. But it'll be false pretences." She tapped the large letters.

His lips twitched. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always."

He wanted to kiss her, but not in front of Gault. He settled for a hand on her arm then began to make his way back to the dock entrance.

"You didn't tell him where we left the car," Gault said mildly.

"So it'll keep him occupied for a while."

"And out of harm's way?"

"That too." She glanced around the corner again, ducking back as another bullet shattered one of the remaining panes of glass in the office window.

"So what do we do? Just wait?"

"No." Hunkering down she scuttled to the far side of the office lean-to, away from the sniper, and tried the window on that wall. To her surprise it lifted, jamming to a halt less than a foot up, but it was enough, at least if she wasn't wearing an oversized bullet-resistant vest. It was almost with regret that she laid it on the ground. "Stay here."

"I am neither a Fed nor a cop," Gault said. "Besides, I think I outrank you." He squatted down and interlaced his hands, palms up. "Shall we?"

* * *

Rick wasn't stupid. There hadn't been a time in his life when anyone could have said that. Misguided, maybe. Overly romantic, certainly. Blinkered … well, yes, on occasion. But lacking in intelligence, that would be a resounding no. So he knew exactly what Kate was doing. And why.

If he were brutally honest, it did give him a warm feeling in his chest, around the area he always supposed his heart lay, to know that she wanted to keep him safe and out of danger. The fact that it gave him the shivers because she was putting herself in the line of fire _yet again_ also couldn't be denied.

As he hunted for her car, he couldn't help wondering why things were different now. It shouldn't be, not really. Okay, she was working for the Feds, and he'd asked her to marry him, but could that possibly be enough reason why he wanted to wrap her in cotton wool for the rest of her life? Not that she'd let him, of course, no more than Alexis anymore.

Maybe she didn't have his ring on her finger, but if it wasn't an oncoming train then at least he thought there might be light at the end of the tunnel. It seemed to him she might already be questioning her decision. He had to be careful not to push too hard, because she was just as likely to dig those four inch heels in and never come home, but if he gave her enough rein to test the waters … He stopped, wondering if he was mixing metaphors.

But the point was he'd accepted her job right from the beginning, had been thrilled and excited by it, even when they were being shot at. Except … somehow, ever since that night when she'd reached out for him, taken that final step into his bed, she'd been … his. He'd gladly have stepped in front of a bullet for Alexis, for his mother, if it meant they could go on living. And now Kate.

The glint of sunshine off a windshield made him turn right. That must be it – her car. He had to smile. If they'd pulled up just a couple of dozen feet further they'd have seen the pool car 'Sito had driven, and he wouldn't have had to start his career of ulcers and high blood pressure.

More gunshots behind him, then a noise that sounded like a small explosion but with no guts to it.

For a long moment he wavered, his feet wanting to run back, to throw himself into the line of fire, to do something useful. Only she'd given him something useful to do, hadn't she?

With a sigh he climbed into the driver's seat, feeling perspiration start on his forehead from the heat already inside, and turned on the engine, ready to block the entrance.

* * *

"I'm going in." Esposito had managed to bend a rusting metal plate that had been used to repair one of the walls enough to allow someone to shimmy through. The screeching noise had been surprisingly loud, although the engine revving inside mostly drowned it. "Stop anyone that tries to come out."

"How come you get to be the hero?"

"I'm more photogenic. Besides, if you stop anyone getting out, _you'll_ be the hero."

"We should wait."

"Hear that?" Another rifle shot over the engine noise. "You really think Beckett's sitting on her hands?"

Ryan sighed. "Not really. I still don't see why it should be you, though."

Esposito shook his head. "Fine. _Rochambo_?"

His partner snorted. "I can't help feeling you cheat somehow."

"Me? Cheat?" Esposito grinned, then became serious once more. "Watch my back."

"Well, I _was_ thinking of going shopping for baby clothes with Jenny …"

Esposito rolled his eyes then ducked inside.

Ryan stared at the double doors, padlocked, bolted and apparently rusted shut. This was so not a good idea. Not that he'd ever been able to talk Javi out of doing something he wanted to do, but he'd nearly always been there to back his friend up. He flexed his hand around the butt of his gun, settling it more securely into his palm.

For a long moment there was no sound other than the engine inside, and he could feel the sun prickling the skin on the back of his neck. Jenny would be out right now, maybe sitting in one of the many outdoor cafes that had sprung up, having a cup of tea. She really was going clothes shopping for the baby, although they weren't likely to be pink or blue. They didn't know the sex, and didn't want to, and he honestly didn't mind. As long as the baby was healthy, had all its toes and fingers, he wasn't fussed. Although a girl would be nice, if she looked like Jenny. But then again, he could teach a boy to play baseball, soccer … not that he couldn't do that with a daughter, of course, but –

A truck, its canvas sides flapping, burst through the doors, scattering fragments of wood and metal like shrapnel. It continued accelerating, and Ryan threw himself out of the way, feeling the tug on his pants leg of the vehicle rushing past him. He rolled, bringing his gun to bear and let off three shots. One disappeared through the back flap, another got a back tyre which exploded into rubber shreds, but the truck didn't slow or turn. Instead it hit the ankle-high wall at the edge of the dock and sailed into space, seeming to be about to fly across the river to safety. Gravity, though, had other ideas, and pulled it down, hitting the water with a grinding splash, the engine still at full pelt.

Ryan scrambled to his feet and ran to see if the driver had got out, but the truck was behaving like a duck with its ass in the air as it floated for a moment. Then the truck rolled sideways, air escaping in great gulps, and he could make out the driver's seat, empty.

The engine finally died as water hit the electrics, and the truck slipped to the bottom of the river, but Ryan was no longer watching. He'd had all too clear a mental image of an accelerator pedal wedged down with something, the brake released and a figure jumping back to avoid getting side-swiped. Worse, that same figure was even now creeping up on one of his partners, about to take them down.

He vanished into the dark interior of the warehouse.

* * *

"Barrett?"

"What?" Kate wasn't really taking any notice of the man with her, most of her senses intent on making sure she would be able to pick up on the bad guys before they saw her.

"Barrett. You said your friend was flirting with someone called Barrett. I just wondered if he was gay." Gault was keeping his voice low, little more than a whisper.

She risked a glance at him. "Seriously?"

"Just making conversation."

"Barrett is Alice Barrett, and Espo is seeing someone else. Okay?"

"Fine."

"Can we get on now?"

"After you."

She withheld a deep sigh, instead slipping around a corner. As she did so she caught her shoulder on the stack of crates, and they shifted slightly, a faint squeal of wood on wood swallowed by the engine noise. "Empty," she murmured.

"So it would seem."

She indicated with her gun for him to go down one of the other alleys and he nodded. Not waiting to see him disappear she continued on deeper into the warehouse.

For a large building most of the space seemed to be taken up by crates of one description or another, piled haphazardly on top of each other as if the owner had used it as a dumping ground. Now Kate knew at least some of them were empty that seemed even more likely, but it meant the place was a maze, built perhaps for some giant rat to go insane in. The name _Ben_ crossed her mind briefly, and she made a mental note to let Castle know her cultural education was complete.

The sound of metal being hit and tearing made her stop, had her looking around to see if there had been an explosion, but the noise was gone as soon as it occurred. The sudden silence was almost as loud as she realised the engine revving had stopped as well, and she contemplated the possible causes. Probably one of the men they were after had tried to make a break for it, but she had no idea if they were both in the vehicle, or if they were even now heading towards the dock gates and Castle's car barrier. Just so long as he wasn't inside if they tried to ram it.

She brushed by another crate, but this one didn't move. Putting her weight against it, she tested it gingerly for any give, but it didn't shift, even when she put more muscle behind it. Whatever was inside was heavy.

Theorising that the weapons that had been stolen would be kept closest to the nerve-centre of the warehouse, Kate moved as quietly as possible, all her senses on high alert, not least because she didn't want to shoot Gault by accident.

A slight noise ahead of her made her pause, then she eased around the corner of a stack.

A man in fatigues, his blond hair cropped military-style, was bending over an open box of ammunition, a rifle on the ground next to him as he cracked the waxed wrapper.

"Do not move," she said, loud enough to be heard but not enough to startle.

The man froze. "Seems like you have me at a disadvantage."

"And I intend to keep it that way. Hands behind your head, Sergeant Feydeau."

The man smiled but did nothing else. "I must be famous." He turned his head slowly so that he could look at her. "I take it you didn't come in here all on your lonesome. I'll hazard a guess that bastard Gault is somewhere around."

"Put your hands behind your head."

"You know, I might have this place wired to blow," Feydeau said, raising his hands very slowly. "You thought of that?"

"You wouldn't," Kate said. "Not and risk your … inventory."

"Want to bet your life on it?"

"No." She moved a pace closer, reaching for her cuffs. "But I'm willing to bet yours."

_Alive._ _We need them alive. _Forsyth's voice spoke in her head, just as one of the crates above and behind her shifted slightly, and her attention was distracted for perhaps half a moment.

It was enough. Feydeau was on his feet and reaching for her, just as a handgun, small calibre by the sound but loud in its proximity, fired twice.


	11. Chapter 11

The sound of the two gunshots were still reverberating through the warehouse as someone cried out and there was a crash of wood as crates fell, followed by something much softer hitting the hard ground.

Not that Kate had time to look or even wonder who'd been hit – she was too busy fighting for her life. Feydeau was taller by an inch or so, and certainly heavier, but he wasn't at the peak of physical condition that she was after weeks of hand to hand combat drills. He might be a little rusty in some ways, but this didn't give her an advantage: he had power behind his punches, and at the most her newly acquired skills merely evened things up a little.

He'd caught her in a solid tackle, taking her to the ground, his body too close to hers for her to get a good aim. He knew was she was trying to do, and he released his grip enough to slam her wrist into the concrete, and her gun flew into the shadows. She didn't spend any time wondering if it was close, if she could reach it, instead having to twist her head to one side to avoid a powerhouse that still caught her cheek and rattled her senses. But instead of trying to repay the compliment and punch back instead she used her free hand to reach up and go for his eyes as they rolled in the dirt.

Her instructor, an FBI veteran close to retirement age, had been very clear. _"I don't care if it is what most folks consider dirty fighting. He's trying to kill you, and you're going to stop him. And if that's by going for his most vulnerable areas, you do it. If you've got to the point where it's got to become physical, you want it to end as quickly as possible, with as little bloodshed, at least to you, as you can make it. You or him, and you do whatever it takes."_ Then he'd grinned. _"And if he thinks you're a defensive little woman, well, more fool him. Once you've stuck your thumbs in his eye sockets, he'll soon be disabused of that notion."_

He knew was she was doing, though, and her fingernails only scraped at his cheek as he lifted himself out of the way, reaching to put his hands around her throat and beginning to squeeze.

Her instructor had been very specific over dealing with this, too. _"Don't try and break his grip. He's probably stronger than you. But it gives you two good hands and two strong legs to work with. Use them."_

Her blood beginning to pound in her ears, she managed to contort her body enough to get her knee higher between them, and with a huge effort she pushed him off her. He fell onto his backside, but was immediately up in a crouch, tugging a knife from the sheath at the back of his waist. He seemed to pause for a moment, wondering why she wasn't trying to get up or fight back, then he obviously decided she was either winded or hurt and a sly smile twisted his lips as he headed in for the kill.

Kate kicked out, all the power of her thighs behind the action, and both boots connected solidly with something yielding.

Feydeau took a breath to howl, then found he couldn't. His face twisted comically as he dropped the knife so he could cradle his groin, his legs giving way beneath him as he slipped to the floor. The pain blossoming into exquisite agony was clear as his face congested, his lungs incapable of taking in even the smallest amount of oxygen.

"Kate?" It was Gault, stepping around the corner with his gun aimed steadily at the man who was rapidly turning puce.

She got to her feet, only a little unsteadily as she rubbed at her neck, realising the fight might have felt like it was going on for hours, but in fact had taken only seconds. "I'm fine. Everyone else okay?" she asked, looking around for her gun and finding it wedged against a crate. She leaned over to pick it up as Ryan and Esposito burst into the small open area from opposite directions.

"I think so," Gault said.

"Someone tried to run me down with a truck," Ryan said, "but they missed."

"I'm sure Jenny will be happy to hear it."

Forsyth appeared. "Was that entirely necessary?" he asked, nodding towards the fallen crates.

Everyone turned to look, except Feydeau who had begun to make quiet sobbing noises.

Amongst the splinters and fractured wood a dark-haired man lay sprawled on the warehouse floor, his pale eyes glassy and staring. It was likely the small calibre wounds in his chest were the actual cause of death, although the angle of his head suggested even if the bullets hadn't killed him the broken neck would have.

"Ah, that was me," Gault confessed. "But in my own defence O'Donoghue here was about to shoot Agent Beckett in the back." He touched the rifle still clutched in the dead man's hand. "Not exactly sporting."

"Thank you," Kate said honestly and with feeling.

"My pleasure." He smiled, and for a moment Kate could see the younger man who Maggie's mother had fallen in love with. "Besides, we still have Feydeau. That is, unless you've done him a permanent injury."

Between them Ryan and Esposito had managed to pull Feydeau's hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists together, but nothing was going to be able to make the man move of his own accord until at least some of the indescribable pain had abated.

"I'm not sure I care," Kate admitted. "But I think maybe we should get outside. He joked about having this place wired to blow, and I don't think I fancy tempting fate."

"Me neither."

They picked their way back through the crates to the outside air, the partners having to more or less carry Feydeau between them. Just as they stepped into the sunshine the back-up Esposito had called for arrived, and right behind them came Rick in Forsyth's car. He jumped out and attempted a saunter towards them, as if he was out for a stroll instead of making sure his lover wasn't hurt.

"Everything okay?" he asked in as casual a manner as possible.

She wasn't fooled for a moment. "I'm fine."

"Good." He nodded sagely. "So none of ours were hurt or injured?"

"We're all good."

"Only I thought I just heard Ryan mention an ME."

"One's dead, and one's in custody wondering if he's going to be singing soprano from now on, but that's all," Gault put in, then stepped away to give them a little privacy.

"Soprano?" Rick looked over at the man being slowly fed into the back of a black and white, his face anguished, his body still hunched over as if he could protect himself from further pain. "Did you do that?"

Kate felt her lips twitch. "Yes."

"So you …" He motioned down towards her feet.

"Mmn."

"I'm sure it couldn't happen to a nicer guy. And I've always told you those boots of yours are lethal."

"Only to you."

He finally grinned. "Seems like old times."

"Not quite."

"What? How?"

"This time you stayed in the car."

He shrugged. "Maybe I've changed."

She pretended to study him. "Maturity certainly looks good on you."

"Are you calling me old?" He managed a surprising amount of affront in his voice.

"If the cap fits, Castle," Esposito said as he passed by them on his way to talk to some of his pals in the bomb squad.

Kate tried, unconvincingly, to hide her smile.

"You're only as old as the woman you feel," Rick called out after him, then looked guiltily at Kate. "Sorry."

"Hey, we're neither of us teenagers anymore. In years, anyway."

"So now I'm decrepit and a … a … what was it you used to call me?"

"A twelve year old on a sugar rush?"

"That's the one."

"I still do, Castle. I still do."

"Well, I know who my friends are." He crossed his arms, the picture of adolescent petulance.

Kate couldn't help herself, and gave a little laugh. She wanted to kiss him, to smooth away the grumpy lines between his eyebrows, to make the corners of his mouth lift up, not be dragged down. Except there were a lot of people about, and … oh hell. She pulled him closer, pressing her lips to his.

For a moment he was surprised, then responded quickly, gaining entrance just enough to touch her tongue with his own.

Then her stomach rumbled.

"We kiss and you make noises at me?" he asked in mock astonishment, pulling back enough to look her in the eye.

"I missed breakfast."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine." She laughed again.

"It's the most important meal of the day, I hope you know that."

"Rick, you do realise Alexis has told me all about those _smorelettes_ of yours, don't you?"

"I could have done you a boring one. With cheese. Or even plain."

"Next time. And as long as chocolate isn't involved."

He pretended to look into the distance, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmn. Cheese and chocolate … ow."

She removed her elbow from his stomach. "You know, you could try cutting Gault some slack," she said, glancing over to where the Colonel was standing by the car, peering in to see how Feydeau was doing.

"Why should I?" A familiar look of stubbornness crossed his face.

"He saved my life."

"He …" Rick stared at the military man.

"He's the reason O'Donoghue's going out of here in a body bag, and not me."

Rick turned back to her, then shook his head. "What he did to Maggie was unforgivable."

"Maybe he's sorry."

"He's had over twenty years to apologise." He put his hand on her arm to stop her arguing. "I'm sorry, Kate. I'll be forever grateful he saved your life, but that's as far as it goes."

She was about to say something else, attempt to persuade him, when Forsyth hurried over, and she tried not to show the annoyance she clearly felt.

"We need to interrogate Feydeau," Forsyth said without preamble. "And the sooner the better, just in case there are more explosions planned."

"Then I suggest we go to the 12th Precinct," Kate said. "He'll talk."

Forsyth nodded, one jerk of his head, and turned away.

"Is there anything about that man that's likeable?" Rick asked quietly, not used to being ignored quite so readily.

"He's only doing his job."

"You don't have to defend him, Kate."

She took a breath, trying hard not to say that this was her job now. "You might want to go get your vest," she said instead. "It's round the other side of the warehouse. Against the wall."

"And why weren't you wearing it?" he accused.

This time she wasn't going to rise to the banter. "Hadn't you better go find it? Just in case anyone takes it into their head to steal it? Although why anyone would …"

"Do you have any idea how much it cost to get it customised?" He shook his head, but walked away, muttering under his breath about how just because he was rich he couldn't afford to waste money.

"You have an interesting relationship," Gault said, having approached on silent feet.

"It's taken a long time, but I think … yes, interesting may well be the right word for it." She looked into his face. "I suppose you'll be heading back now? To wherever you came from?"

"Trying to get rid of me too?" He chuckled. "And no, not quite yet. I think I've got just enough rank to hang around a while longer. Besides, I'll have to stay while an inventory is taken, just to see how much Feydeau and his pal had managed to scoop out from under our noses."

"He'll go to prison, you can be sure of that."

Gault was suddenly serious again. "Kate, it might not be as simple as you think," he cautioned. "I've dealt with people like Forsyth before."

"You mean people like me."

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but you're not one of them. Not yet. Don't let them take you over. You're too good a cop for that."

"Not anymore."

He shook his head, then smiled ruefully. "Well, it's your funeral. But remember what I said. People like Forsyth can swallow nails and spit out corkscrews. It's all done in the name of national security, but sometimes … Just watch your back."

Kate was about to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but he had already wandered away towards where Feydeau was waiting, leaving her with the hairs standing up on the back of her neck.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you serious?" Kate couldn't believe her ears, and had had to leave the interrogation room just so she didn't lose it in front of Feydeau.

Forsyth gazed coolly at her. "Of course."

When they'd arrived back at the precinct Feydeau was put immediately into the box, still favouring his crotch but at least able to walk upright. Gault had tried to be included in the interrogation but Forsyth had been firm.

"Your involvement is over. You've plugged your leak. Now it's my job."

_My job, _Gault noticed. Not _our_ job. He glanced at Kate, and could tell by the expression she'd picked up on this too. "I'd still like to ask a couple of questions. Tighten up our security, stop it happening again."

"Then later. I have more important things to chase first." He turned but was too late – Kate was already through the door and in interrogation.

Rick darted quickly into the viewing room, Gault only half a pace behind him, and they watched in an uncomfortable silence as Kate, seated in the only other chair at the table, began to ask questions, her attention solely on Feydeau and not on her fellow FBI agent standing awkwardly in the corner. She was quiet, calm, pushing where she needed, pouncing on a turn of phrase or ill-used word.

"She's magnificent," Gault breathed.

Rick looked at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry, did I say that out loud?" Gault smiled. "But she is."

"I know."

"You're a lucky man."

Rick felt an odd combination of pride and jealousy ripple through him. "I know," he said again.

"And my daughter is lucky to have you as a friend."

For a long, tense moment there was silence. "Thanks," Rick finally said.

Gault wasn't looking at him, instead staring into the other room. "Is she happy?"

"I … yes."

"I was a fool."

"Yes." This was one conversation Rick really didn't want to have. "Look, I –"

"No. It's all right. I understand." Gault dropped his head for a moment, then straightened again. "I burned those particular bridges a long time ago."

For once Rick didn't know what to say. If he were writing this scene he'd be able to make it a grand cathartic experience, letting so much emotion out that it would roll in a wave down the corridor and make everyone cry, and Gault would be so overwhelmed that he'd go and beg Maggie's forgiveness. Real life, though, even in Rick's world, was different. Maggie was his friend, and she'd been injured deeply by her father, and as much as Rick still had the urge to hit out, to hurt as much he knew it still hurt her, he knew it wasn't his place. "Right." It wasn't enough, never would be, but it would have to do.

Then things all started to go to hell in the interrogation room.

* * *

"Why did you kill Carmody?" Kate asked, her eyes on the man across the table.

Forsyth looked annoyed – this wasn't the way he wanted the interrogation to head – but Feydeau merely shrugged.

"Who?"

"Elliott Carmody. You blew up his car with him and his driver inside."

"Wasn't me." Feydeau stretched out his legs tentatively, checking if there would be accompanying pain from his abused groin, but apparently there was none as he crossed his ankles under the table. "Don't even know the man."

"It was your RDX."

"Allegedly."

"Oh, we know it was. You weren't as careful as you could have been. Colonel Gault has been on to you for some time."

Feydeau smiled, a little like a cat eyeing up a canary. "If that's the case how come it's taken until now to catch me?"

"He had to wait for the proof to fall into his lap." Kate also smiled faintly. "That particular batch of RDX had a radioactive tag in it. Not much, just enough to register. We found the signature at both bomb sites. Exactly the same signature we've just found in your warehouse." A small lie, but from the way Feydeau was looking a little rattled, the smile fading, she knew it wasn't that far from the truth. "And that makes the charge terrorism," Kate added.

"I didn't bomb anyone." He licked suddenly dry lips. "But I … uh … might know who did."

"Enlighten me."

"What's on the table?"

"What?"

"My mama didn't raise no fool. I read about those two explosions, and maybe I can help. But it has to be a two-way street."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Drop all the charges. And I'll tell you who I might have sold to, and how much they might have bought."

"We've got men checking the warehouse right now," Forsyth said from the corner. "We'll be able to match up what Colonel Gault thinks is missing."

The smile was back. "You sure? O'Donoghue was pretty good at covering his tracks. And the truth is, Danny was the one behind it all, not me. Maybe I just wandered in looking for my friend. I can make a good case out of being an innocent bystander. He was the one who was light-fingered, not me."

"You mean your _dead_ friend."

"Can't help that." Feydeau shrugged.

"And being dead he can't deny it, can he?" Forsyth said.

"Again, not my fault. I didn't kill 'im." He looked expectant. "So what's on offer?"

Kate waited for Forsyth to say that there was no offer, that the FBI didn't make deals with potential terrorists, but what her colleague said next floored her.

"We can certainly discuss reducing the charges, or possibly dropping them altogether. Dependant on the quality of the information you give us."

Kate stood up slowly. "Could I have a word with you?" she said quietly to Forsyth, and walked to the door.

"Hey, c'n I get a drink around here? Maybe a soda? Coffee? Man gets parched talking so much." Feydeau called out as Forsyth was forced to follow, but was ignored.

"Are you serious?" Kate demanded to know as soon as they were outside and the door was closed. "What the hell are you doing?"

Forsyth was frosty. "My job."

"He killed Carol Flanagan. He did his best to kill Maggie, tried to do the same to her father …" Kate saw Rick and Gault leave the observation room from the corner of her eye. "And you want him to walk?"

"I have bigger fish to fry, Agent Beckett."

"Bigger than murder?"

"If he's telling the truth there could be a madman out there with enough RDX to take out a building. Hundreds could die. I'm looking at the bigger picture."

That phrase again.

"What about justice?" Rick wanted to know.

"Mr Castle, you're not a part of this investigation, and I don't even know why you're still here."

"Because I want him here." This was Gault, and everyone turned to him, including Kate who had been about to say the same thing.

Forsyth looked perplexed – that is, his brow furrowed minutely. "Colonel?"

"Mr Castle is a member of the team. Deal with it."

Forsyth stared at him, then did his usual trick of ignoring anything he didn't like or approve of. "As I was saying, Agent Beckett, this is for the greater good. And if that means Feydeau gets away with a slap on his wrist, so be it. He's a minnow – I want the shark." He turned on his heel and walked back into the interrogation room.

Kate glanced at the others, her face stony, then followed.

"Thanks," Rick muttered.

Gault half-smiled. "You're welcome."

"Did you do that because –"

"Because of Maggie? No. But I'm not stupid, either. I get the feeling you and Ms Beckett make a good team."

"We do."

"Then I hope she makes the right decision."

Rick knew he wasn't talking about what was going on in the interrogation room, but he didn't have a chance to answer because Ryan had sidled over.

"Did I hear right?" the Irish detective asked. "Forsyth is going to let Feydeau walk on the murders?"

"Seems like it," Rick agreed.

"Can he do that?"

"He's a Fed." Esposito put down the phone and joined them. "Officers found the car they used to take potshots at you, Colonel."

"Anything useful in it?" Gault asked.

"Well, considering they set fire to it …"

Gault looked annoyed, but Ryan knew his partner all too well. "What?" he demanded.

Esposito's lips twisted grimly. "Well, let's just say our friends can't have a lot of arson experience. The fire burned itself out before the gas tank exploded, so CSU are hopeful, particularly as it looks like there are prints on the rear view mirror where someone adjusted it without wearing gloves."

"Not that it matters," Rick said. "Not with what's going on in there right now."

* * *

Feydeau was where they'd left him, still sitting, legs outstretched, hands clasped loosely in his lap. He looked up as they came in.

"Well?" he drawled. "Do we have a deal?"

Forsyth took the chair this time. "You walk on the murder charges, as well as the theft of Government property." He tossed Kate a bone. "You do, however, get a dishonourable discharge."

"Hell, I can live with that."

"And all monies accrued from your little enterprise are to be turned over."

Feydeau laughed. "You sound like an accountant. Is that what you are really? A bean counter? Just worried about who gets the cash?"

"This isn't up for negotiation."

"I can always make more money."

"I'm sure you can." Forsyth took a small leather-bound notebook from his pocket and a fountain pen from inside his jacket. "Now. Your buyers."

"First, I want it in writing."

"You have my word."

"You think I trust you?" Feydeau snorted. "Hell, I don't even trust my own grandma."

Forsyth looked at Kate. "Agent Beckett?"

She felt her teeth grinding, but she managed to say, "You won't be charged in any way with the theft of weapons, the murder of Carol Flanagan, or the attempted murder of Colonel Gault and Ms Maguire."

"Sounds good to me." Feydeau glanced down at the notebook. "Ready?"

"Go ahead."

"My pleasure." Feydeau reeled off a dozen and a half names, mostly with a little extra information such as dates and places, all of them with what he'd sold, and Kate found herself feeling a sort of grudging admiration – he really had been getting away with it for a long time.

"Very interesting," Forsyth said, noting everything down. "Except these are all guns."

"You don't want to know about them?"

"I want to know everything, but as time is of the essence I need you to tell me who bought the RDX."

"Ah, well, that was a special order. I don't normally handle that sort of thing – I'm more into small arms, nothing bigger than a rifle, although the way Danny worked it we could have got you a tank if you'd paid enough."

"The name, Feydeau."

The soon-to-be ex-soldier smiled, the slow one that put Kate in mind of a snake about to strike. "You can't blame me for saving the best to last. Charles Hanover."

"Hanover?" The fountain pen was scratching again.

"He bought everything you need to make bombs. And since he's the only one I sold explosives of any kind to, and you say the tag was found in those cars that got blown up, I'd say it was pretty certain he's the feller you want. Has a place in Queens, at least that's what Danny said when he followed him."

"You didn't trust him?" Kate asked.

The grin was turned on her. "Not as far as I could throw him, ma'am."

"Address?" Forsyth wanted to know.

Feydeau gave it, then added, "That it? Can I go now?"

"Not quite." Forsyth closed his notebook and snapped the lid back on the pen. "It's going to take a while to do all the paperwork, let alone check out these names – but I'm sure the NYPD will make you quite comfortable in Holding." He stood up.

Feydeau chuckled again, showing even, white teeth. "Mister, I'm a soldier. Compared to some of the places I've been, this is luxury." He stretched out again and put his hands ostentatiously behind his neck.

"I just have a couple more questions," Kate put in.

"Sure. Go ahead."

Forsyth gave her a hard glare, but she ignored him this time.

"Why Carol Flanagan?"

For a moment something akin to guilt flittered across Feydeau's face, but it was gone quickly. "That was a case of mistaken identity."

"You thought she was Maggie Maguire."

"A dead ringer, if you'll pardon the pun. And she was there, in the parking area below the apartment. How were we to know it wasn't her?"

"Then I'll rephrase the question. Why Maggie?"

"To get the Colonel here to New York," Feydeau said bluntly. "We figured he'd at least come here to demand answers, and we'd get a shot at him."

"This was all to get Gault into your crosshairs?"

"You know, it kinda worked." Feydeau crossed his arms. "I have to admit I had no idea about the radioactive tagging – that was real sneaky – but it surely brought Gault here, even if the death of his daughter didn't."

"So that was your plan?"

"Yeah." He half-smiled. "Gault was getting way too close, stirring up a hornets' nest, and we weren't about to get stung. It didn't take much research to figure out who she was. O'Donoghue was damn good at finding stuff on the computer, among other things. And we thought blood was thicker than water. Guess we were wrong about that."

"You've got a lot of things wrong," Kate said evenly. "You even killed the wrong woman."

"No, now, that wasn't me. To the best of my recollection I've never killed anyone. That was O'Donoghue. He did the deed."

"Computer genius and murderer. Mmn. Pity he isn't around to say otherwise."

"Yeah. Pity."

Forsyth coughed. "Agent Beckett? Are you entirely finished?"

"For now." She opened the door.

"Hey, I'll be here, darlin'." Feydeau settled back again.

Outside the others were waiting for her, standing back until Forsyth had passed them, already busy dialling on his cellphone.

"I'd like to wipe that smile off his face," Rick said grimly, glancing towards interrogation.

"Me too," Kate agreed. "But my hands are tied." She looked at Gault. "You're not surprised."

"No. And neither are you. Not really."

"I'd hoped …" She paused for a moment before going on, "I've seen too many people claiming any means is appropriate to get to an end, when what they really meant was it was okay for _them_ to be doing it."

"And that makes you no better than the bad guys, right?"

"It blurs the line. That man in there is guilty of murder, and he's going to walk because it's … expedient."

"He's a crook," Gault said. "He'll slip again."

"Somehow that's not enough." Kate turned back to Rick. "I'm sorry we couldn't get him for trying to kill Maggie."

"Hey, she's alive. And it's Carol Flanagan's family I feel for. They're not going to get justice."

A tall, curvy blonde in uniform handed Ryan a sheet of paper. "Thanks, Hannah," he said, quickly perusing it, then he looked up, anticipation on his face. "We've got the address confirmed on Hanover."


	13. Chapter 13

"He's too neat," Ryan said reflectively.

"What?"

"I never trust anyone who's too neat." He looked at his partner. "Which is why we get along, I guess."

"Are you saying I'm messy?"

"No. But you're not OCD about it."

"Neither's Hanover." Esposito looked around the small apartment. The lounge was separated from the kitchen by a long counter, rather like Rick's loft, except that the whole thing – including bedroom and bathroom – could have fit comfortably into just the living area, with space to spare. The other main difference was the lack of personal effects: there were no photos, knick-knacks or other human paraphernalia to show an actual person lived here.

"You think?"

Esposito touched a fragment of paper lying on the floor under the table with his toe. "A true OCD couldn't have ever stood that. Besides, everything's dusty."

"Yeah, he's not been here for a few days."

"Try a week," Rick said from where he was crouched down behind the counter. "There's a paper for every day going back nearly a month, except for this past week." He'd tagged along, and nobody felt inclined to say no, not after Gault's assertion that he was part of the team, not even Forsyth who was sitting at the desk, the glow of the computer screen giving the planes of his face an eldritch glow.

"Find anything?" Kate asked, coming in from the small bedroom.

"He's too neat," Ryan repeated.

"And he recycles once a month," Rick added, standing up. "Anything in there?"

"Not even a used Kleenex. And Kevin's right – it's too neat. He might not believe we can catch him, but he's not left anything just in case." She turned to Forsyth. "What about the computer?"

Forsyth tsked. "Everything's password protected, but from what I can see of the memory usage it looks like there's hardly any files anyway. Whether there were …" He shrugged, a most un-Forsyth-like movement. "Our technicians will take a look, but I doubt they'll find anything, at least in time."

"What about his internet history?" Rick asked.

"You mean are there any convenient bomb-making sites he left comments on?" Forsyth didn't even look up. "That would be too easy. And no, that's cleared too."

"Can't you … I don't know … pick up an echo from somewhere? Out of the ether?" Ryan asked. "I thought the Feds monitored everything."

"That's a fallacy, Detective Ryan, put about by people with un-American tendencies." He closed the computer down and stood up. "I don't think we can find anything of use here. I suggest you put surveillance on the place, but if Hanover has any sense he won't be back, not until after he's done whatever it is he's planning on doing."

Rick was about to snap the latex gloves off his hands when he glanced down. "Wait a minute," he said, disappearing out of sight. They heard scrabbling for a moment, then he popped back up like a Jack in the Box, something caught in the tips of his fingers. "It was wedged in the corner."

"What is it?" Kate asked, moving closer.

He held it up in triumph. "A memory card. Looks like for a camera."

* * *

"I can't believe it." Kate was brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. "Nothing of any use."

Rick leaned on the bathroom door jamb, his arms crossed. "Unless you like pictures of the crime scenes."

She glared at him in the mirror, then pointed her toothbrush at his reflection. "Hanover was just checking out where he was going to put his bombs."

"At least it's something, even if it is circumstantial."

"Really useful."

"And he knew Elliott Carmody was going to be there, otherwise why did he have photos of him?" He watched her rinse and spit, then smiled as her eyes found his again in the mirror. "We'll find him, Kate."

"I know." She still sounded frustrated as she began to floss.

For a long moment he watched her, wondering how something so mundane could still be incredibly sexy. Then he pulled himself back to the present – well, almost. "Kate, do you remember the case of that young woman who worked as a dominatrix? The one doing research?"

"Of course. She was killed by her roommate because she was leaving." She was working at the back molars, and only half-listening.

Rick smiled. Of course she remembered. There probably wasn't one case that had faded into the dark. "Well, we had a discussion about the kinky things we like to do."

"I'm not dressing up in that nurse's outfit for you."

"We can talk about it later. And I didn't mean that. You said there was one wild, kinky thing you liked to do." He could see her still, her hair shorter, straighter, darker than now, but the intensity of her gaze still able to make his blood pump faster. "_Putting killers behind bars_." Her words.

"I remember."

"So what changed?"

"Nothing. And I will. Just not today."

"I don't see how that can be an acceptable compromise."

"Isn't that what life is?" she countered, dropping the used floss in the bin and turning to face him. "Just one compromise after another? Whether it's food, vacations, where to live –"

"Where to work …"

"There's little in life that's black and white. It's all shades of grey. You're a writer, you know this."

"Except in this case it's wrong."

"I'm not going to argue."

"And I love you. Isn't that black and white enough for you?"

She cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand, feeling the roughness of his beard beginning to prickle through his skin. "I love you too."

"But?"

"No buts. Black and white."

"Then an _except_."

"It's my job now. I have to take the good with the bad. And at the moment I have to do a juggling act."

"You mean me and the job."

"Jordan Shaw manages it," Kate pointed out. "Husband, daughter …"

"And all the cool gadgets, yes, I know. But you're not enjoying it."

"How can you say that?"

"I have eyes, Kate." His own were intense in the bright light. "You're not like Forsyth."

Kate blinked, hearing Gault's opinion repeated back at her. "Anyway, this isn't about enjoyment. It's about doing a good job."

"So letting someone like Feydeau walk is doing a good job."

She shook her head and walked past him into the bedroom. "You don't understand."

"What is there to understand?" He followed. "Kate, you're a cop. No matter what title they give you. You catch the bad guys and put them in jail. That's what you do."

"Rick –"

"Not what you _are_, of course. You're Kate Beckett, extraordinary, frustrating, incredibly thick-headed sometimes –"

"Are you calling me stupid?"

"Probably."

She climbed into bed. "Are we really going to have this conversation again?"

"I worry about you."

"I know." She rested her elbows on her bent knees and pushed her hands through her hair. "But I'm careful, I have a gun and –"

"No. Not that. Well, not just that. I mean how you feel. Deep down." He slid under the covers next to her.

"I love you."

"I know that. And you're trying to change the subject."

"Is it working?" She ran her hand up his thigh.

"Not this time. Kate, I don't want you to end up like Forsyth."

"Why, don't you think he's sexy?"

"That's … horrific."

She laughed. "Yes. Sorry." Her fingers moved higher.

"Kate, stop. We need to talk about this."

For a moment she didn't move, then she sighed and dropped her hand. "I can't just walk away. How would that sound?"

"To me, perfect." He hurried on quickly, "I've told you. Whatever you decide, I'll back you up. I'll be there for you, waiting at home, dry martini in one hand, slippers in the other. Or not, if you don't want me there. But it has to be because you want to, not because you think you _have_ to."

Her lips twitched. "Dry martini?"

"I was being poetical."

"You make it sound like something out of the 1950s."

"Hey, don't knock it. Women knew their place back then."

She rolled over on top of him, her long hair brushing his face. "You want to try that again?"

"This isn't the answer to everything." He felt something stir at hip level. "I mean, it's fun, but we have to talk sometimes."

"Since when did you become the adult in this relationship?" she asked, brushing his lips lightly with hers and sending electricity straight to his groin.

"I don't know." He put his hands on her waist. "Maybe I'm sickening for something."

"Do you have a temperature?" She laid a hand on his forehead.

"Only around you."

She smiled and sat up, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "So I'm a flame?"

"And I'm a moth. Attracted to your light and not caring if I get burned."

She wriggled a little on him. "The fire in your loins?"

"And the heat in my heart."

"_Nikki_ Heat, of course."

"Of course."

"So what's the next one going to be called?" Kate asked, pulling her t-shirt off over her head and dropping it to the floor.

The sight of her flesh, smooth, lean and almost glowing above him, short-circuited his higher brain functions, rerouting all thought processes through a much more primitive area altogether. "Who cares?" he muttered, his voice deepening with desire as he reached for her.

* * *

"Kate."

She was walking on a beach, the cool water of a sparkling blue sea lapping at her toes, the setting sun warming her shoulders.

"Kate."

Somewhere in the distance a bird was calling, but she didn't bother looking for it.

"Kate."

Just ahead there was a simple shack, and someone was standing by an open grill. She took a deep breath, and the most amazing aroma wafted towards her on the cool breeze …

"Kate?"

"What?" She tried not to wake up, but the sand and the evening and the food of the gods was slipping all too quickly through her fingers.

"Are you awake?"

"Do you know what a stupid question that is?" she ground out.

"I just had the strangest dream."

"And you woke me up to tell me that?"

"No, listen. I think we're looking at the case all wrong."

Despite herself, Kate rolled over enough to look at him. Even in the low illumination of the city lights coming in through the open curtains she could see he was quite serious. "Explain. And just remember my gun is in the nightstand."

"Ooh."

"Castle."

"I think Carmody's still alive."

Now he had her full attention. "He blew up."

"Did he?" He gazed at her. "We only found bits of his driver."

She sat up slowly. "So you think he's hurt? He's wandering around somewhere?"

"No. I think it's far more deliberate than that. And diabolically clever."

Kate pushed her hair away from her face. "Castle, I'm too tired to play guessing games."

"Think about it. In all the checks we've done on Charles Hanover, there's not one indication he's a terrorist."

She was beginning to get an inkling where he was going. "He's a thief."

"Right." He pulled his feet up so he was sitting cross-legged. "He's in it for the money, pure and simple."

"Maybe he's good at hiding it. That's what terrorists do – hide."

"Is that what they taught you at Fed school?"

"Just like a thief doesn't go around in a striped shirt and a mask, terrorists can be normal people," she pointed out.

"I know. And maybe I'm totally wrong. It wouldn't be the first time."

She didn't answer for a moment, just letting the idea ferment in her mind as her eyes held his. "Okay," she said slowly, finally. "Let's run with this for the moment. Are you suggesting Carmody is in league with Hanover somehow?"

"He could be." Rick could feel excitement starting to build in his stomach. "He's a banker, deals with enormous amounts of money every day, and none of it his. Maybe he got greedy, decided he wanted more."

"He's not exactly on the breadline," Kate pointed out.

"No, but that's the thing about rich people. They always want to be richer."

For once, even with an opening like that, Kate didn't chase it. "So how does he meet Hanover? I doubt they run in the same circles."

"Mutual acquaintances. Or perhaps it was his driver, Eccleston. We haven't looked into their pasts that much."

"We thought they were just victims." Kate shook her head. "Besides, that doesn't work. If Carmody was working with Hanover why would they kill Eccleston? For verisimilitude?"

"I love it when you use long words." He smiled briefly, then went back to being serious. "Maybe Eccleston found out what was going on and had to be silenced. Or he was part of it and he got cold feet and was threatening to go to the cops."

"Then I've got another question. Why haven't we heard about any theft?" Rubbing her hands over her face she went on, "There are going to be a lot of safeguards, passwords, security … how could they expect to get past them?"

"It's like you said. We thought Carmody was a victim. He's dead, so why would his company worry about changing his passwords or locking him out of the system?"

"Again, why haven't we heard about it?"

"Because it hasn't happened yet." Rick scooted forward, a little closer to her. "The explosions were a … a smokescreen, to cover up Carmody's kidnap. Only he's not co-operating. At least, so far."

Kate straightened up slowly. "It sounds crazy."

"I know." He waited.

"Right." Kate suddenly tossed the covers from her body and swung herself out of bed.

"What are you doing?" Rick asked.

"Something equally crazy." She picked up her jeans. "And it might just get me fired."

He grinned.

* * *

It had been a few hours blessed peace, although with the hood over his head he didn't know if he was being watched or if he was on his own. The sweat on his body had dried and he was shivering slightly from the chill, or maybe it was just delayed reaction.

"Mr Carmody."

The voice at his ear made him jump, and his heart started to race so much he was sure it was going to beat its way out from behind his ribs. "Y… yes?"

"Are you ready to co-operate? I don't like doing this, although my colleague doesn't seem to have my sensibilities. He's willing to go on for days. But you're not, are you? You're going to be helpful. After all, it isn't your money, is it?"

"I … are you … will you let … let me go?" He didn't even sound like himself as he stammered out the question. "If I … do what … do what you want?"

"Of course, Mr Carmody."

He knew his captor was lying, but it didn't matter. Anything to stop them hurting him again. "Okay. I … yes. Whatever you want." He dropped his head to his chest, letting the tears roll unseen down his cheeks.

Hanover looked down at the man sitting slumped in the chair, and felt a small glimmer of guilt, but pushed it away. After all, needs must. Glancing at Chenkov he said, "Get him his clothes."


	14. Chapter 14

Rick was driving, having insisted. "You're exhausted. Forsyth might not be human, but you are. You can powernap in the car while I drive."

Not that Kate had taken any notice. "Like that's going to happen with you behind the wheel."

"I'm a good driver! You just haven't had that much practice finding out."

"You keep telling yourself that." She flashed him a smile then went back to checking her phone.

"Anything?" Rick asked, waiting at a red light for a slow moving street cleaning vehicle to pass in front. Even at this time of night the city wasn't empty, where the usually unseen masses did whatever they needed to keep New York running smoothly. And of course it was in these wee small hours that a lot of nefarious deeds went on too.

"Not so far."

"Jenny wasn't exactly pleased." Kate had called both Ryan and Esposito as she dressed, juggling her cellphone until Rick took pity on her and held it while she pulled her t-shirt on.

"I'm not surprised. Do you have any idea what the time is?"

"They'll want to be in on the bust."

"Maybe there's nothing to be in on." He wondered briefly if that was grammatically correct, but Kate understood.

"Having second thoughts?" she asked, glancing at him.

"No. Maybe." The light turned green and he pressed down on the accelerator. "It's … they've had Carmody for a few days. If they're trying to … persuade him, do you think he could hold out? I mean, the longer the delay, the more likely it is a password sweep would deactivate his access. Whatever they're doing to him isn't likely to be pleasant." He shook his head, trying to dislodge some of the things he'd read when researching just such an event he had planned for Derrick Storm. "_I_ couldn't. No matter how pig-headed I was."

"Are. Most definitely _are_."

He wanted to say that he wasn't the only one, that she still wasn't wearing his ring. Such a conversation, though, would be for another day. "Maybe I _am_ crazy."

"Castle, I know you've had some wild … some _very_ wild theories in the past, but for once I think you're right."

"But that's why you're not calling Forsyth? In case I'm wrong?"

"That too."

"Admit it, Kate. You don't like him."

Her cellphone ringing stopped any indiscreet comment she might. "Beckett." She listened for a minute. "Great. Meet us there."

"Well?" Rick asked, wishing she'd put it onto speaker.

"Elliott Carmody is a partner at Willingham, Baines and Carmody, and he has more cash in the bank than you do."

"And?"

"_And_ before he went into the money business he was in the Army for ten years, reaching the rank of Captain. Ryan couldn't find out what his speciality was … something about it being classified."

Rick felt a faint thrill. "Something where he might have been trained to withstand torture?"

"Even if he was a clerk he'd have had some kind of training." Kate bit her lip. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn the car around. We're heading in the wrong direction."

"I thought we were going to the precinct?"

"Not anymore."

He risked a glance at her as he slid on the wrong side of the road around a double-parked van, and had to smile at the determination on her face. "Shiny."

* * *

Willingham, Baines and Carmody was housed in a tall glass and concrete structure that reached up into the night sky, but like a lot of the city, even in these times of financial strictures, a large number of windows were lit up, like sporadic Morse code.

Kate tapped on the door to get the attention of the night-guard sitting behind a long desk, but it was only when she slapped her FBI badge against the glass with a squeal that made Rick wince that there was a click and the lock disengaged.

"Can you tell me how many people are in the building?" she asked as they crossed the lobby.

The guard blinked. "That depends. Mostly on why you want to know."

She put her badge on the polished wood. "Federal business."

"It looks fake."

"It's not."

The guard crossed his arms. "I could go into any one of a dozen toy shops and pick one up like that." He glanced from Kate to Rick. "I mean, just because … hey, aren't you Richard Castle?"

Rick was momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Yes, yes I am."

The guard held out his hand. "I am a huge fan. I just love your books. I mean, Derrick Storm … I'm so glad you brought him back. He's been a huge influence on me. I mean, I don't intend to always be working here, you know?"

Rick shook his hand, taking a closer look at the man as he did so, and realised he was younger than he first thought. He was probably in his early twenties, and it was the receding hairline and growing paunch that had added years to his age. "You can do anything you put your mind to."

"I know. I mean, I've had ideas for books myself."

"That's always the hardest part." Rick peered at the man's name badge. "George?"

"That's me." The young man preened.

"George, we need to know who's in the building. Would they all have to sign in here?"

"Mostly. I mean, if they came in the front door. But if they've got a pass key they could come in from the parking area."

"And has anyone?"

George checked his clipboard. "Only the cleaners through me." He paused a moment. "But I could check the computer log, if you like. Every time a key is used the time's entered onto it. We're very security conscious."

"George, that would be incredibly helpful."

The guard smiled and started tapping at his keyboard.

Rick turned to Kate and smiled smugly – it had been a long time since his name had opened doors for them, and he couldn't help it. She just rolled her eyes.

"This is odd." George was staring at his screen.

"Odd?" Kate asked, taking back control.

"I mean, we all heard about Mr Carmody. I mean, who wouldn't? It's been all over the papers, and everything. And his pass key was probably blown up with him anyway, so there wouldn't be any reason to –"

"George. Focus."

He looked up. "It's been used."

"When?"

"Tonight. About half an hour ago. On the security door from the garage, then again for the elevator and his office. Which is crazy, right? I mean –"

If she heard him say _I mean_ once more she was likely to shoot him herself. "Which floor?"

"Fifteenth. South-east corner. But he's dead, isn't he?"

"Can you tell if he's accessed his computer?"

"No. Not from here. It's on a different system."

"Give me your pass key." She held out her hand, palm up.

George went pale. "I can't. It's more than my job's worth to just –"

"You'll be helping the FBI stop a serious crime," Rick said.

The young man swallowed hard.

* * *

"Mr Carmody, are you stalling?"

Elliott Carmody wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. "No. Of course not. It's just my fingers aren't working as well as they should be."

Hanover stood by his shoulder. "That's your second attempt at this password. One more and you'll be locked out. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Why not?" Carmody felt a flash of bravado. "You're going to kill me anyway."

"Why would I do that?"

"I'm not stupid. You let me see your face."

Hanover smiled thinly. "That's true. But I don't kill people."

"No? Tell that to Tom." He'd still been mostly awake when they made him watch his car explode, knowing his friend and driver was still inside. _Incentive_, they'd called it. They'd jumped him as he left the elevator from his apartment, injecting him with something that immediately made his legs buckle and his vision blur. Not enough that he couldn't see the destruction, though, or hear the pattering of fragments hitting the pavement.

"That, I regret to say, was necessary."

"How? How was that necessary?"

"To give the illusion that you died. So we could be here, you beavering away to get me what I want. And don't _you_ be under any illusion that I won't do what I have to. There's a great deal of money at stake, and I intend to enjoy spending every penny."

"And that?" Carmody nodded towards the box he'd carried up, and which now sat on a side table. "I know what that is."

Suddenly Hanover was breathing in his ear. "Mr Carmody, believe me, I can make your life extremely painful. And you'll still do what I want. Do you want to test my patience?"

Carmody shivered. "No. No, I don't." He turned back to the keyboard to try again.

* * *

They took the elevator to the floor below Carmody's office, and by the time the doors opened Rick was feeling a little nervous. "Are you sure the boys are on their way?"

"You heard me make the call."

"And Forsyth?"

"This is their collar."

"Shouldn't we wait for them?" Rick asked as Kate opened the door to the stairs.

"How long does it take to transfer money?"

"No idea. Minutes."

"They've been here nearly thirty. Or maybe they've gone already and Hanover's in the wind." She headed up.

"I don't give much for Carmody's chances if they have."

"Me neither."

As they reached the next floor up she put her finger to her lips at the same time as drawing her gun, and Rick nodded as she pulled the door open.


	15. Chapter 15

"How much longer?" Hanover was getting twitchy.

"It's a great deal of money." Carmody stared at the screen. "There are safeguards, protocols … if I get any of them wrong then the system will shut down and nobody gets anything."

Hanover tapped him on the shoulder with his gun. "I didn't ask for an explanation, just a timeframe."

"Ten minutes."

A smile flittered across Hanover's face. "Then I'm rich."

"Believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

"No?" Hanover glanced around the office. "You don't seem to be doing too badly."

Indeed, Carmody had made his workplace more like a home from home. Three dark green leather sofas, deep enough to sink into, framed a glass and oak coffee table, various magazines scattered across its top. The slightly old-fashioned feel to the room, however, was in contrast to the punchball machine set up in the corner, next to a small bar where the levels in the bottles of alcohol suggested lots of late nights. Behind the oak desk with the green leather top was a bank of screens, each showing a different financial market, except one that was scrolling through the security feed from the building, showing little but five second shots of empty corridors and the occasional cleaner desultorily wiping down handrails or vacuuming carpets.

Carmody, sitting at the keyboard and taking as much time as he could, shrugged. "Money isn't everything."

"People who have it always say that."

"It doesn't buy happiness."

"Another truism. And perhaps you're right. But I still think I'd like to try it for myself. Hurry up."

"I'm going as fast as I can," Carmody lied, deliberately not taking one of his normal shortcuts that would have seen the money transferred in thirty seconds.

"If I thought you weren't telling the truth …" Something on the security feed caught his eye and he stiffened. "What the hell?"

* * *

Kate checked the corridor before slipping around the door from the stairs. She knew Castle was right behind her, and as much as his presence was a comfort, she wished he was downstairs in the car. But it had been a long time since he'd obeyed that particular commandment, even before he'd asked her to marry him. No. Mustn't think about that now.

More relevant was the fact that she should have waited for back-up, but there was an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, somehow connected to the hairs on the back of her neck, and both were hinting that it would be too late if she did. On the odd occasions she'd ignored it she generally wished she hadn't.

The corridor ran the length of the floor, doors set at equal distances, wood and glass alternating. South-east corner, the guard had said, so that meant the far end. Moving as silently as possible along the grey marble floor, Kate nevertheless checked each door, just in case someone was waiting in ambush.

For all her care, though, she didn't notice the tiny red light blinking on the security camera set high in the corner.

* * *

Hanover felt anger surge through him. He'd been so careful, planned out everything down to the last, and yet he knew cops when he saw them. A man and a woman, only one gun visible but that didn't mean they both weren't armed. And the way they were moving … well, they might as well have been placards saying NYPD.

He swore.

Carmody relaxed, just a little. "Looks like you're out of luck." He stiffened again as the automatic in Hanover's hand swung back to him.

"You have thirty seconds."

"I … I can't."

"Try."

Carmody slowly lifted his hands and placed them back on the keyboard, but they were trembling so much that he must have knocked the sensitive keys too hard, and suddenly a banner flashed across the screen: UNAUTHORISED ACCESS. "No …" he murmured, feeling sick.

With a fury that he could only marginally hold back, Hanover struck out, catching Carmody on the temple with the barrel of his gun and knocking him to the floor.

"Another way out," Hanover demanded.

"W … what?" Carmody tried to blink away the darkness that was threatening at the edges of his vision.

Hanover leaned over and ground his weapon into the other man's throat. "Is there another way out?"

Carmody tried to swallow. "Y … yes. That door. In the corner. Over … over there."

"Fire escape?"

"Yes."

"Straight down?"

"Y … yes."

"Then there's just one other thing to do." Hanover moved towards the box, but for once Carmody was quicker. He pushed off from the floor, ignoring the sharp pains radiating all through his body, and barrelled into the other man, sending him flying.

Hanover roared, bringing his gun around and firing even as he fell.

* * *

Two gunshots, very close together.

Without thinking, Kate ran down the last of the corridor. The glass door opened easily enough into a secretary's office, but the inner was locked. She kicked. Her trainers didn't have the power of her four inch heels, but it was enough, and the lock sprang free.

Carmody was laying against the desk, panting and clutching his shoulder, a brighter red staining an already soiled shirt.

"That way," he ground out, nodding towards a still swinging door in the corner.

Kate glanced at Rick, a whole library of meaning in the look, not least of which was 'stay here and look after him'. She didn't wait for a response, but ran through the door.

Rick went down onto his heels next to the other man. "Lie still." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and moved Carmody's hand enough so that he could wad it against the still bleeding wound, pressing down.

Carmody groaned.

"Sorry."

"Damn, why does it hurt so much?" Carmody asked, his face white as a sheet. "In the movies a shoulder wound doesn't even show the hero down."

"That's fiction." Rick tried to ignore the feeling of thick warmth seeping through the linen, slick and sticky all at the same time.

"You should know."

"You recognise me?" For some reason Rick was surprised.

"Sure. Your books are a godsend on a long haul flight." He tried a grin but it turned into a grimace.

Rick felt a faint smile sketch across his lips even as he studied the other man. Carmody was a mess, his eyes almost closed, and dried blood had pooled in his emerging beard. "You need an ambulance."

"You can say that again." Carmody focused. "And you need to go. Your partner needs you."

"You've been shot. I'd say your judgement is impaired." He took his cellphone from his pocket and pressed 911, giving the address and situation to the young woman who answered. As he hung up a voice behind him nearly gave him a cardiac arrest.

"Mr Castle?"

Rick looked over his shoulder, telling his suddenly racing heart that it was unlikely to be the bad guy calling his name. He was right, it was the night guard, his face almost as pale as Carmody's.

"Oh, hey, George."

"I … if you need to go … I've got first aid training."

Rick flashed him a grateful grin. "Great. Come here."

George swallowed hard and knelt down. "Mr Carmody," he said formally, before flexing his fingers and taking over from Rick, trying to hide the revulsion at holding a bleeding wound.

"Keep pressure on it," Rick advised, standing up and wiping his wet palm down his pants. "Wait a minute, what about the ambulance?"

"I left the front door open," George admitted. "And the elevator's ready for them."

"Good man." Still, Rick wavered.

"Go," Carmody insisted, despite the pain. "George will keep me company."

Rick nodded and was about to follow Kate when he saw the box on the side table, looking out of place. Something clicked in his over-active imagination. "Is that …"

"Yeah. I stopped him before he had a chance to …" Carmody closed his eyes briefly. "Otherwise I think we'd all be dead."

Rick lifted the lid gingerly, all the blood leaving his face when he saw the brick of RDX and various wires leading to a timing device. It was only when he realised the LED screen was blank that he took a breath. "I think you're right."

"You'd better hurry," Carmody said, letting his head fall back against the desk. "She needs you."

* * *

Kate hit the garage without even catching a glimpse of Hanover, but slid through the door as low as possible in case he was waiting to shoot at anything that obscured the light from the stairs. She moved forwards, then paused as something crunched underfoot. Not stopping her constant scanning of the shadows, she squatted down and touched broken glass, still warm. Now she understood why the garage was in semi-darkness – a long line of striplights had been deliberately shattered.

She smiled grimly. Hanover might have thought he was muddying the waters, it was like an arrow, stating _I went this way._

There were only a few cars in the gloom, but enough to hide under. Dropping to the ground she checked under first one car, then another, keeping low as she scooted along. No sign.

Movement in the corner of her eye had her jumping to her feet and running forward, but an engine boomed in the confined space and accelerated away. She sped up, back past the stairs, up the ramp and out into the night air, but the vehicle had gone.

"Shit!"

"Kate?"

She whirled, bringing her gun up then taking her finger from the trigger as she realised who it was. "Castle? Why aren't you with Carmody?"

"He's got George looking after him, and an ambulance is on its way. Where's Hanover?"

"He got away." Her frustration was obvious. "Damn it!" She kicked at the ground even as her cellphone rang. She jerked it angrily from her pocket. "What?"

It was Esposito, his voice clear even though he wasn't on speaker. _"Beckett, we're on him."_

"Where?" She was already running for their car, Rick keeping pace with her.

_"Heading north on …"_ There was a screech of tyres.

"Say again, Espo. I didn't get that."

He repeated the street name. _"Sorry. Ryan's driving."_

"Right." She slid behind the wheel while Rick just about managed to climb in next to her before she started the car and pulled away from the sidewalk with a savage wrench.

_"Hanover's in a dark blue van. We picked him up just as we got to Carmody's office. I didn't get all the plate but the last three digits are 892."_

"Don't lose him."

_"Not if my life depended on it,"_ she heard Ryan say, determination in his voice.

* * *

With Esposito directing them and the roads almost empty compared to the daily rush of traffic, they drove fast, ignoring red lights and only slowing enough at intersections to make sure nothing was likely to barrel into them.

"Hanover was going to blow the office, by the way," Rick said in passing, and wishing, not for the first time, that this car had sirens and a gumball. "I mean, even if we hadn't turned up."

"What for?" she asked absently, not really concentrating on what he was saying.

"I can think of any number of reasons, mostly to do with the fact that he's crazy." Rick braced himself on the roof. "Hide his tracks, any possible trace that might lead back to him. And of course there'd always be the possibility we might think Elliott Carmody was behind it all, and he accidentally blew himself up."

"You mean he kills his driver to make it look like he's dead so he can steal from his own clients." Kate nodded briefly. "If we didn't know about Hanover, it's no less outrageous a theory than some you've come up with."

"Outrageous?"

"Mob hit of a spy?"

"Yeah, well, maybe I do … embellish a little."

"A little? Don't you think that's an understatement?"

"I'm a writer. I don't do understatement." Rick almost smiled. Banal, stupid conversation by some standards, but it was like the vent on a pressure cooker, designed to keep them at the top of their game without an explosion. Okay, considering how they'd got into this, perhaps not the best choice of metaphor. "There," he said suddenly, pointing. "A dark blue van."

She accelerated again. "Can you see the plates?"

He nodded. "Last three digits, 892."

"Want to bet they're stolen?"

He smiled grimly. "I wouldn't want to take your money."

Kate snorted. "Who said I'd be losing?"

"Not me."

She leaned forward to speak into the cellphone wedged on the dashboard. "Espo, can you get ahead of them?"

_"On it."_

"Kate, they're going to know they're being followed," Rick pointed out.

"There's not enough traffic to be –" Whatever she was going to say was lost as the back doors of the van opened.

"Kate!" Rick shouted even as something hit the roof of the car and ricocheted away.

A man stood in the back, short, muscular, legs wide apart to steady himself. He was holding a rifle, aiming directly at them and preparing to fire again.


	16. Chapter 16

Rick was scrabbling around on the floor of the car trying to get to the cellphone which had flown off the dashboard when Kate jerked the car to avoid the oncoming bullet, but it was just out of reach under the seat.

"Forget it!" Kate said. "Get my gun."

"What?" He looked up and stared at her.

"I need to drive, there's no time to stop and change over, and I'll be damned if I don't let someone shoot back." She snapped him a smile then went back to avoiding being hit.

"Right." Rick nodded, twisting in his seatbelt to reach to her hip, his fingertips brushing bare skin at her waist where her blouse had ridden up.

"And don't try anything."

"Now? You think I have a death wish?" Shaking his head he released the gun and felt it slip easily into his hand. Turning back he wound down the window and leaned out slightly, taking aim. He squeezed the trigger and felt the slight recoil up his forearm, jolting his elbow at the unnatural position. His first shot, though, went wide, while the second broke too high as they hit a slight bump in the road. "Kate, I can't get a decent aim."

Kate took a deep breath and pulled the car straight, giving Rick the opportunity to bring the gun to bear. Unfortunately, it gave the man in the van the same opportunity, and the windshield starred as a bullet passed between them, burying itself in the back seat.

Rick quickly punched out the fragmented glass, but that only revealed the man with the rifle taking even more careful aim, a grin on his face.

For a long, horrible moment Rick believed he could see the future, and it was short, bloody and ending very painfully. Then a car stormed in from the cross road on the right, heading straight for the vehicle in front. At the last second the driver hauled hard on the wheel and the tyres squealed in protest as it skidded sideways and slammed into the side of the van.

If it had been another car that was the target it might have stopped it, but it swerved violently and continued on, albeit with a badly dented side and scattering sparks from metal rubbing together somewhere. The sudden shock, though, threw the stocky man from the back.

"Look out!" Rick yelled, but it was too late. The man hit the car, bouncing off the hood and landing wetly on the sidewalk.

Kate had braked hard, slewing around and stopping facing the body.

"Is he …" Rick asked.

"Yes."

There couldn't be any doubt, not really. Apart from the staring, unseeing eyes, the spreading pool of blood, it was clear from the angle of the man's neck that he wasn't going to be getting up again.

"Right."

The back doors of their car opened, and Ryan and Esposito got in.

"Thanks, boys," Kate said, gunning the engine again and doing a neat two point turn to head off in continued pursuit of the van.

"You're welcome," Esposito said.

"Although I'm not looking forward to the paperwork," Ryan added. "I think the front axle's gone."

"Get the Department to send the bill to me," Rick said. "Believe me, it was worth it."

Kate was ignoring the banter. "I can't see him," she said suddenly.

"He must have turned off." Ryan leaned forward. "Slow down."

Kate did as she was asked, even though her instinct was to put her foot down.

They looked down each cross street as they passed, until Esposito said, "There."

She backed up. "You sure?"

"Positive."

Spinning the wheel she headed the car down a small side turning, away from the business and commercial buildings into residential areas, finally catching sight of the van a long way ahead. Now she let herself push the accelerator to the floor.

By now the sun had tipped over the horizon, angling along the street and making Kate squint as she kept her eyes on the van in front. They were gaining, then the van turned left through a pair of open gates into a scrapyard, back doors flapping wildly.

With a final burst of speed Kate reached the gates in record time, barely braking enough to avoid rolling the car, then having to drag the wheel again, foot slammed hard onto the brake, all her muscles taut. The car came to a halt in a shower of gravel just inches from the van. The _empty_ van.

"He's inside," she said quietly.

"Do we follow?" Ryan asked, looking out into the rusting stacks of cars.

She nodded slowly.

"Back-up's on its way," Esposito said, having been busy with his cell. "Bomb Disposal too."

Rick half-turned in the seat to stare at him. "You think …"

It was Kate who answered. "From what Gault said about the amount of RDX that he figured was missing, there's no way those bombs were all of it."

"Then we should wait for back-up."

"I don't think we can." She turned to look at his, the seriousness on her face making his heart miss a beat. "Listen."

Rick was the first to realise what he'd been hearing, first at the edge of sounds of the city, and now louder and more recognisable. "Kids?"

"Lots of them."

Calling, shouting, laughing, having fun. All just a few hundred yards away from a possibly huge explosion.

"But it's still summer break. Why –"

"I bet it's one of those vacation breakfast clubs," Ryan supplied, his face pale. "For parents who have to go to work early. My sister's kids go to one …"

"I saw a church, just before we turned in," Esposito said, already opening the back door.

They all followed him out into the warm air of what promised to be a hot summer's day.

Rick held out Kate's gun. "Here."

"No," she said, surprising them all. "You keep it. Javi?"

Esposito nodded and bent down quickly to pull his back-up piece from his ankle holster, handing it to her.

"Anything about this seem eerily familiar?" Rick asked, scanning the scrapyard and feeling his palm starting to dampen.

"Well, let's just hope it ends the same way." Kate took a deep breath. "Come on."

* * *

The sun was well and truly up, throwing long shadows from the stacks of old cars and trucks across the canyons created. For a heart-pounding moment Hanover thought he was lost, destined to wander between crumpled Fords and windowless Volkswagens forever, eventually petrifying into one of the metal exhibits himself. Then he turned a corner and saw the large metal container they'd been using to hold Carmody and carry out their … persuasion.

He hurried forward, sure of his location now. And when he'd done what he needed, he could use the escape route Chenkov had shown him that first day.

A pang of guilt momentarily surprised him, but then he recognised it for what it was. Chenkov had been good at his job, doing anything asked of him with Russian stoicism. He was going to miss the little man's skills, and the next job was likely to be more difficult without him. Still, he thought to himself as he slipped inside, at least Chenkov died quickly.

Then he saw the pale green digits counting down in the darkness, and wished a far longer and more painful death on the bomb-maker.

* * *

They'd split up to cover more ground, moving between the stacks until Rick was sure he'd passed the same Camaro at least twice.

Sometimes – like now – he wondered how he'd got himself into this, then remembered being tapped on the shoulder at a book launch, and how five years had gone by in a flash.

"You'd better say yes, Kate," Rick murmured to himself. "Otherwise I'm going to be hell to live with."

Wishing he was watching a video game rather than participating in a real manhunt, he slid around a corner into an open space, surrounded by walls of rusting hulks. A large container, the kind used on ships to haul long distance cargo, sat in the clearing, like a metal hut in a metallic jungle.

Rick took a deep breath, stiffening his sinews ready to …

The door swung open and a man stepped out. It was Hanover.

Instinct Rick didn't know he had took over, and he raised the gun, just as Hanover's eyes widened at seeing a man with a weapon. But he couldn't do it, not shoot a man in cold blood, and that moment of indecision gave Hanover time to take to his heels and run down a small gap between towering cars.

Rick didn't think, didn't let his common sense take over, and instead followed.

The gap was narrow, twisting first left then right, then suddenly it widened and Rick saw Hanover just ahead. Hanover, a gun in his hand, aiming.

Now it wasn't cold blood, it was definitely hot. They both fired at the same moment, and Rick would swear for ever after that he felt the bullet part his hair. His shot, on the other hand, hit Hanover in the right shoulder, taking him down and making him yell.

Approaching carefully, Rick wasn't surprised to hear someone approaching.

"Castle?" It was Kate, closely followed by Ryan and Esposito from different directions.

"I'm fine. Hanover, on the other hand … well, I think it's poetic justice. For Carmody," Rick explained.

"I get it." Kate went down onto her heels, taking the handcuffs Esposito proffered. The only concession she made to Hanover's wound was cuffing his hands in front of him. Then she looked into his face. "Where is it?"

"What?" Hanover was pale, but perspiration was starting to break out on his forehead.

"The RDX."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Kate shook her head. "You're under arrest. How bad it gets is up to you."

Hanover gave up pretending. "We have to go."

"Why?"

"You don't understand." Hanover was sweating, and not just from the pain. "I'll admit to anything … anything. But we have to leave."

Kate glanced at Rick. "Where was he coming from?"

"A container. Back there."

"No, look …" Hanover was trying to get to his feet. "We need to leave!"

With a final stare Kate stood straight, then walked determinedly towards gap in the stacks.

"You're coming too," Esposito said, dragging Hanover up.

It said a lot for his state of mind that the wounded man didn't complain, just tried to pull backwards, away from the container. It didn't make any difference, and the four men followed.

* * *

Inside the comparative darkness Kate was staring at the numbers counting down, at the wires leading from the timer to enough bricks of RDX to build a small house, or at least a lean to. Enough, certainly, to get everyone within a goodly distance a harp and a pair of wings.

"Kate, this is bad," Rick breathed.

"I know."

5:08:13

5:08:12

5:08:11

Nowhere near enough time to do much more than say a prayer.

"We have to leave, now!" Hanover was pleading, his eyes fixed on the moving numbers.

"Not willing to die for your cause?" Esposito asked, his own mouth dry.

"What cause? I only wanted the money." He pulled at their restraining hands. "Please! It'll take out the whole place!"

Kate looked at Esposito. "How long 'til BDU get here?"

"Too long."

She came to a quick decision. "Get him out of here." She jerked her head towards Hanover. "And try to evacuate the kids."

"What are you …" Rick began, then saw her start going through a tool box. "No. No, no, no, no, no." He turned her to face him. "No, Kate."

The stubborn look on her face was very familiar. "The stacks might look stable, but an explosion of any kind, let alone the amount of RDX that's here … it's going to turn into shrapnel, let alone toxic fumes from burning tyres and upholstery." She shook her head. "We can't risk it."

"Then I'm staying."

"No."

"I didn't go when you were standing on that bomb. I'm not going now just because you're going to defuse one."

"Going to try." She looked at her former colleagues. "What are you waiting for?"

"Beckett … Kate …" This was Ryan.

"Kids?" She gave a half smile then twisted from Rick's grasp to go back to the tool box.

The boys hesitated for perhaps ten seconds, then strode out, dragging Hanover between them.

"I'd have let him stay," Rick said conversationally. "Just in case. I'd like to have seen his face just before he was vaporised."

"We won't feel a thing." She put a pair of needle nose pliers to one side, next to a fine screwdriver.

"How do you know that?"

"I know."

"I mean, it could all be relative. It might only be a split second to anyone else, but to us –" He stopped, but only because she had turned and put her finger across his lips.

"I did tell you to go," she said softly.

"Not going anywhere," he mumbled around her fingertip.

"Fine. Then let's do this."

* * *

**A.N.:**Just in case you were wondering, the final chapter will be up at the weekend, just in time for the start of the new season! In the meantime ... don't you just love cliffhangers? Jane0904


	17. Chapter 17

Martha looked out at the early sun shining on the sea, and smiled. With any luck Richard would have finished working his magic on Kate, and she'd be agreeing to come back to New York on a permanent basis.

In all honesty, which was something she didn't admit to all that often, she wasn't quite sure how she felt about her son's relationship – he was, after all, _her_ _son_, and she didn't want to see him hurt again. Still, as a woman she admired Kate, her drive to succeed echoing Martha's own when she was that age. Of course, by then she'd already had Richard, and the likelihood of her name up in light above a Broadway hit was vanishingly small, but she had thrown that same passion into her academy, and she still held out hopes one day of being thanked in an Oscar acceptance speech. Even reflected glory was still glory. Not that she'd be anything but gracious.

She smiled again, the breeze catching at the ends of the pink and green scarf holding her red hair in place, and suddenly shivered, the smile fading. Now why should that happen? All she was thinking about was Katherine and Richard, and how he was so much happier with her in his life. Not the happiness he'd got with his literary earnings, either, but deep down contentment. For that she should be giving thanks, and instead she had an almost overwhelming urge to call him, to make sure he was okay.

"Martha. Ready?"

She looked up towards the man waiting at the end of the dock, the rope of the small launch in his hand, ready to take her out to spend the day on his yacht.

"Coming!" she called, and banished the concerns. Besides, she could always call Richard later, when she got back.

* * *

Alexis sat on the lid of her suitcase and finally managed to snap the catches shut. She grinned. Maybe she'd overdone it on the souvenirs, but she knew her dad would appreciate the handmade poncho, just as much as he had appreciated her very first gift to him, made during her first week in kindergarten and carried very carefully home. She knew it was still in his desk, a felt pocket that now contained the pen he'd used to write _In A Hail Of Bullets_, and he'd value the poncho just as much.

She'd bought Kate a small clay pot of an oil that was said to keep the wearer young forever – whatever, it smelled nice. And that was just for starters.

She laughed, glad to be going home the next day.

Standing up carefully, just in case the bag exploded and tossed everything in a multi-colour mushroom cloud, Alexis wondered if Kate was going to say yes. And how did she feel about taking on a step-daughter? It wasn't likely she was going to call the older woman 'mother' – she already had one of those, who was even now cutting swathes through the Parisian Left Bank.

In a way Alexis was glad Kate and Dad's relationship hadn't been … no, she still didn't want to think about them having _sex_, so she would stick with them not being so _close_ earlier on. If she'd had to fight Kate for time with him, she'd have ended up being full of resentment. As it was, there were times when his playing cop had taken him away, although maybe it was good experience for going to college. But no matter what, he was _always_ going to be her dad, always there at the end of a phone, ready to give occasionally dodgy advice on everything from clothes to her love life.

"Alexis?"

It was Pat, one of the other teenagers working at the camp.

"Hey." She smiled.

"You look lost in thought."

"I suppose I was."

"I almost hate interrupting."

"I was just thinking about my Dad."

"Ah." Pat had been a confidante, something about her round, gentle face that encouraged trust. "Looking forward to going home?"

"Mmn."

"Me too." Pat chuckled. "Only some of us are going into town to make a day of it."

Alexis glanced down at her bag. "I don't think I can fit anything else in."

"Then you can advise. Tell me not to buy that embroidered vest I've had my eye on."

"I might just encourage you."

"I don't need encouragement."

The two friends laughed then put their arms around each other, stepping out into the early sunshine, the heat already making them perspire.

* * *

It was hot in the container, the sun finally high enough to fully hit one of the metal sides, and making both of them sweat. Or maybe it wasn't the heat, just the tension.

Rick licked dry lips, tasting salt, and steadied his hand holding the small torch Kate had given him, aiming it directly into the mess of wires.

How did she do it? Facing down murderers, serial killers, bombers … yet she still looked calm. Maybe she wasn't, of course. If her stomach was anything like his it would be rolling and jumping. For once he was glad he'd missed breakfast.

He had no idea what to do. Holding the torch was all very well, but he couldn't help feeling she'd given it to him for something to do. Now the lights had been switched on, she didn't really need it. Not that he was going to stick his hand in, not this time. Before, that time with the dirty bomb, he'd pulled the wires in that last second as an act of desperation. He'd been lucky, so very lucky, but he knew better than rely on that kind of luck again. It might not be saving a city, but still a lot of lives. Did it even matter how many? One or thousands?

She was running deft fingers along the wires, checking where they led from and to.

She touched him like that, her nails barely grazing her skin, yet setting fire to his nerve endings. She could grab and scratch too, but her delicacy always amazed him.

No. Stop that. Don't think about sex. Although, why not? If these were his last moments on earth next to the woman he loved, maybe they should be about passion, desire, need and ultimate satisfaction.

She picked up the pliers.

"Kate?"

"Yes?"

"You did the course on bomb disposal, didn't you? You're not just … winging it, are you?"

She almost smiled. "I took the course."

"And you passed it, right?"

There was just a moment's hesitation that he wished he hadn't heard. "Of course."

"You're lying to me, aren't you?"

"You want the truth right now?"

"No. Honestly, no."

She looked into his eyes. "Hold the torch steady."

He swallowed. "Will do."

For a moment she didn't move, then leaned forward quickly and pressed her lips to his. "For luck."

"Luck," he agreed.

She went back to the wires, carefully sliding the cutters either side of a black wire. "Here goes."

He had to close his eyes, not wanting to see the flash, feel the cold heat of infinite oblivion burning through his skin, nerves, tendons, fragmenting his bones into ash.

Then … _snick_.

For a lifetime he didn't move, couldn't get his muscles to work.

"Rick. Open your eyes."

It took all his willpower, but when he finally looked she was still there, smiling slightly at him. "Is it …"

"Safe. Ish. I wouldn't recommend moving it."

"So you did it."

"It was a simple circuit."

"So you giving me a heart attack by waiting until the last minute was just for effect?" His voice went almost supersonic.

"No." She reached out and cupped his cheek. "I wasn't sure. It could have been a decoy, or a trip."

"You mean it could still blow?"

"No. I think it's safe. The timer's stopped. But like I said, probably best not to move it, in case there's an anti-tamper device."

"Good idea." He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Can we get out of here now?"

"I think that can be arranged."

* * *

Bomb Disposal weren't exactly complimentary, but even Captain Mahoney understood she hadn't had another option, seeing as they didn't arrive until two minutes after the countdown would have stopped.

"But you try anything like that again …" He shook his head.

"Believe me," Kate said, "I don't intend to get within spitting distance of a bomb ever again."

"As if I haven't heard that before." Still muttering under his breath Mahoney walked back into the scrapyard to supervise his men dismantling and removing the RDX.

Rick pulled Kate around into his arms, looking into her eyes. "You okay?"

"Fine."

"Not tired after our disturbed night?"

"Not really. A bit wired, if you want to know the truth." She snuggled a little closer.

"Please don't use words like that."

"Like what?"

"_Wired_."

She laughed, the vibration transferring to his chest. "Okay."

"Then how about breakfast?" His stomach rumbled on cue.

"I could eat." Then her cellphone rang.

"Let it go to voicemail," he advised.

"I'd better see." She manoeuvred enough to take the phone from her pocket. "It's Forsyth."

"Definitely don't answer."

"I'd better." Disentangling herself from his embrace, she flicked _answer. _"Beckett." She listened for a moment, then grimaced, mostly for Rick's benefit. "Can't it wait?" Again, listening. "Fine. I'll be there." She hung up.

"What does he want?"

"To chew me out."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No." She put her hand, palm outward, onto the centre of his chest. "Go home. Wait for me there."

"Kate –"

"It'll probably take a while. And you can make us something to eat."

"Then a shower and bed." He waggled his eyebrows and managed to make the words suggestive.

She pushed gently. "We'll see."

He leaned in for a quick kiss, then groaned slightly. "Is that all I get?"

"For now." She pushed again.

"Fine. I'm going." He thrust his hands into his pockets and wandered nonchalantly towards the street to try and find a cab, his car currently being part of a crime scene.

Kate watched his fine backside stroll off before she sighed and turned away, knowing she had to attempt to cadge a lift herself in one of the black and whites.

* * *

Forsyth wasn't exactly in the best of moods. His usual stoicism was replaced with an eye twitch and a throbbing vein in his temple. Kate was half-inclined to suggest he make a visit to his doctor to check for high blood pressure, but decided against it. He was just as likely to have an attack of apoplexy if she did.

"You're not a police officer any longer!" They were in Interrogation at the precinct, probably a deliberate choice by Forsyth to try and intimidate her, and indeed he was standing while she sat behind the table. "You're a Federal Agent, and this means your priorities have to change."

"The bigger picture."

"Exactly. In fact, your conduct throughout this entire incidence could be construed at the least insubordinate, and at the worst possibly criminal."

Kate sat back. "We got the bad guys."

"And who's to say we couldn't have used them to get to others?"

"Feydeau gave you the names of his customers, and Hanover wasn't even a terrorist. He was a thief and a murderer."

"He might not have been!"

"He's also in custody. When he's released from hospital I'm sure the NYPD would let you interrogate him. They could probably even supply the thumb screws."

"This is exactly what I mean. This sort of inappropriate humour has no place in a Federal investigation."

"Maybe it should. Maybe we should laugh at ourselves."

Forsyth glared at her, then shook his head. "This will all have to go in my report."

"Fine." Kate stood up. "You do that." She walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, sorry, haven't you finished?" She didn't wait for him to answer, just walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind her.

He jerked to the doorway. "You'll be accompanying me back to Washington this afternoon," he said firmly.

She didn't even turn around. "Fine."

The door slammed shut.

Outside in the bull pen, Ryan was standing by his desk. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"He's an asshole."

"That seems to be a popular opinion." Kate looked around. "Where's Javi?"

"Still at the hospital, waiting to talk to Hanover."

"He drew the short straw?"

"Rock beat scissors."

Kate chuckled. "So you're starting the paperwork?"

"That I am." He nodded behind her. "There's a telephone message on your desk."

"It's not my desk."

"You keep saying that …" Ryan wandered towards the break room and a coffee.

Kate smiled and picked up the slip.

* * *

He was waiting outside a private room, peering through the vertical window slats in a trying not to be furtive sort of way.

Kate walked up to him. "Sir."

Colonel Andrew Gault turned. "Miss Beckett."

"I think you can call me Kate."

"Then I'm Andrew."

She thought for a moment. "I don't know if that's appropriate."

His eyes narrowed at her odd inflection on the last word, but didn't comment. Instead he said, "You got my message."

"I did. But why did you leave it at the precinct?"

"How else could I get hold of you?"

She exhaled heavily, hearing other subtext. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking on Alexis."

It threw her for just a second. "I keep forgetting that's her name."

"I suppose she's been Maggie longer." He shook his head. "But she'll always be Alexis. The little girl who couldn't sleep at night if she didn't have Rodney Rabbit by her side."

"Rodney Rabbit, eh?"

"Just don't tell her I told you." He glanced back into the room again where James Congreve was sitting by the bed, holding his wife's hand. "They're letting her out this afternoon."

"You make it sound like prison."

"It probably is to her. She always did hate hospitals." He walked away towards the nurses station, and Kate followed him.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" she asked.

He stopped. "I wanted to tell you I've taken Feydeau into custody."

Kate's eyes widened. "What? How? Forsyth promised him –"

"I don't care what that prick promised. I can charge Feydeau with aiding terrorism, which is just as good as being a terrorist. He won't see daylight for a long time."

"Guantanamo Bay?"

"If I can manage it."

"Even though it's supposed to be closed?"

His smiled was sly, conspiratorial. "You just go on believing that."

"I wish I'd been there."

Gault laughed. "It wiped that smile off his face, that's for sure."

"Thanks."

"Hey, he tried to kill my daughter. We might not be speaking, but we're still blood."

"They _did_ kill Carol Flanagan," Kate pointed out.

"Who?"

"The woman who started all this. Maggie's stalker."

"God, yes, I'd forgotten." He looked guilty. "How bad does that make me?"

"It makes you human. She got lost in the concerns about explosives."

"Except you didn't lose sight of her, did you?"

Kate shrugged. "The bigger picture. That's what Forsyth talks about. But the little pictures are just as important. The little lives that make a difference."

He smiled. "I think that writer has rubbed off on you."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"A compliment. And you know you're a cop, don't you?"

Another opening she wasn't about to go down. Instead she said, "Why don't you go in? See Maggie?"

She could tell by his expression that he knew she was changing the subject.

"No, I don't think so."

"You know you're an ass, don't you?"

He laughed. "Miss Beckett, if I were twenty years younger …"

"If I were twenty years older, I might let you."

"No. You've got Castle."

"I do. And he'll be glad about Feydeau, as much as I am."

"Are you going home to him now?"

"No. I'm on a flight to Washington in ninety minutes."

"I'm heading to the airport myself. Want to share a cab? You can tell me some of your wilder exploits."

"Colonel Gault, I'm sure yours are far more hair-raising."

"Then we'll swap." He crooked his elbow. "Shall we?"

"Why not?"

* * *

Kate gazed out of the window at the Washington Monument, wondering why it only felt like yesterday that she had stood there before. Nothing seemed to have changed – the sky was still blue, the noble edifices still polished, the grass still green. The last made her wonder whether someone came out and spray painted it occasionally, but decided that was far too _Castle_ to be true. More likely there were hidden sprinklers that switched on at night to keep everything lush.

Her thoughts drifted to her partner. He hadn't been too happy when she called to tell him she'd been summoned back to Washington.

_"You're on vacation – can they do that?"_

"Apparently."

_"Tell them no."_

"I can't."

_"Kate, I …"_

"It's my job."

_"I know, but …"_

He was trying so hard not to push her, to do as he promised and leave the decision to her, and she could envisage the look on his face – half little boy who was being threatened with the removal of his favourite toy, and half grown man resigned to the situation. Admittedly, the petulant eight-year-old was probably winning. But the truth was she'd already made her decision, for better or worse.

"Agent Beckett?" Assistant Attorney General Freedman was standing in the open doorway.

"Sir." She smiled.

"You'd better come in." He waited for her to go first, then followed and closed the door after him. The soft click of the latch engaging sounded very final.

He walked past her to his desk, and Kate tried hard not to remember Rick's parting words: _"Imagine him naked."_ She was going to get him back for that.

Freedman sat down, saying, "I've just read Agent Forsyth's report on the incident."

Incident? That was an understatement. "That was fast, sir."

"He's not exactly complimentary about you."

"Really, sir?"

"Really. Any idea why?"

"No, sir."

"This pre-emptive respectful attitude is welcome, but won't help your cause, Agent Beckett."

"No, sir."

Freedman sat back and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. "I have to admit, Forsyth is a … hard person to get along with. He's good at his job but lacks imagination. Something you seem to have in excess." He sighed, just a faint susurration of breath. "I wouldn't have put you together if I'd had a choice, but he was close and available. That doesn't, however, diminish his view of you. Do you have any comments?"

"Yes, sir." She took her nice, bright, shiny and above all new badge from her pocket and laid it gently on the table. "I resign, sir."

It would have been gratifying if he'd looked surprised, but instead he merely said, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir." Kate took a deep breath. "Forsyth is right – I find it too hard to see the bigger picture. I'm too good at concentrating on the victims, on their rights to go on living, and when that's taken away I want to see justice done."

He smiled faintly, little more than a twitch of his lips. "Did you rehearse that?"

"A little," she admitted, feeling some of the tension leave her shoulders. "Did I put the emphasis in the right places?"

"Oh, I think so."

"Sir, the truth is I'm not ready. I don't want you to think this is because of what Forsyth wrote, that I'm rolling over – I'm not. I'd already made my decision. I'm extremely grateful for the opportunity, and perhaps in a few years … Right now I just want to put killers behind bars."

"Too many compromises, huh? Like Feydeau?"

"Exactly like Feydeau."

"He's still going to jail."

"No thanks to us."

Freedman gazed at her, the silence stretching as he studied her, and Kate wondered what he saw. Then, when it seemed something had to snap or she'd scream, he reached out and, as delicately as she'd put it down, picked up her badge. "You're right," he said. "You're not ready." He opened a drawer and put the badge inside, sliding it slowly closed, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. "But when you are it will be waiting."

"Thank you, sir." The relief and gratitude was almost too much.

"Now what? What are you going to do?" Freedman asked, although the look on his face suggested he knew.

"Go back to the NYPD. If they'll have me." She hadn't yet figured out how to accomplish this.

Freedman finally cracked a smile, even showing teeth. "That, perhaps, I can help you with." He reached for the phone.

* * *

"You have friends in high places." Captain Gates raised her eyebrows. "I've even had the Mayor on the line."

"Yes, sir." Kate didn't quite stand at attention, but almost.

"The powers that be are inclined to take your … break as a sabbatical."

"That's good of them."

Gates sighed, and in a mirror image of Freedman's actions, slid open a desk drawer and took out a badge and gun. "I suppose at least our arrest rates will go back up." She handed them over.

"I hope so." Kate looked at her badge then slipped it into place. Somehow she felt dressed again, complete.

"And if you're offered something else?" Gates wanted to know.

"I think I can promise I won't be leaving again, not until I become Captain myself."

Gates slid on her glasses. "The way you solve murders, that might not be too long."

Kate smiled. "No, sir."

"One last thing, if you're back, does this mean I have to put up with Mr Castle again?"

"I'm afraid so."

"God help us." She picked up her pen. "Just remember you both have to keep it professional in the office."

"We'll try." Kate walked out of the office and straight into the happy grins of Ryan and Esposito.

"Welcome home," Ryan said, enveloping her in a hug, closely followed by his partner.

"Thanks, guys."

"We've got your desk ready for you," Esposito said.

"Good news travels fast."

"Light speed," Ryan agreed. "We've even got your mug out of storage."

She looked at her old desk where the mug did, indeed, have pride of place, next to a space for her elephants and jelly bean bowl. "Looking forward to it."

"We'll let you get settled in," Ryan said, nudging his other half. "Coffee?"

"Please."

"Great." The two men walked towards the break room, bickering over who would make it.

The phone on her desk rang and Kate sat down, automatically adjusting the seat height. "Beckett."

_"Hey."_ Rick's voice.

"Hey."

_"So … are you back?"_

"I am."

_"It's over?"_

"Yes."

_"You're staying?"_

"Yes."

_"So I don't have to buy that place in DC?"_

"No, you don't."

_"Only it had a hot tub …"_

She had to smile. "I'm sure you can get something put in at the loft."

_"Maybe on the roof …"_

"Great. Bubbles and exhaust fumes."

He laughed. _"Champagne and me."_

She joined in for a moment, then asked, "What about Maggie? Is she okay?"

_"She's fine. The doc said her pregnancy wasn't threatened, and let her out of the hospital. She and James have gone back to their place."_

"Do you mind?"

_"Mind what? Them going home?"_

She could imagine the look of slight confusion on his face, those little lines between his expressive eyebrows. "She's your best friend, Rick."

_"Yes, she is. But like you said, I can have more than one."_

Now he was smiling, she knew that. "So I'm your best friend too?"

_"And lover. And partner. And fiancée?"_

"Let's take this one step at a time, okay?"

He muttered something under his breath, but said, _"Okay. Whatever you want."_

"Hey, I was thinking, why don't we have my Dad over for dinner next week?"

_"Good change of subject. And sure, of course. Why?"_

"I don't know. Just that I don't seem to have seen much of him lately."

_"Well, Alexis will be back by then, and my mother will be around. How about we take them all out to Antonelli's?"_

"I'd like to cook for him."

Now the smile would be slow, warm, seductive. _"If that's what you want, sure. Will we have some good news to tell him?"_

"Small steps, Castle. Small steps."

_"Fine. Just so long as we're not standing still."_

"Definitely not that." She heard him sigh mightily, knowing he was exaggerating it just so she would.

_"Okay. When will you be home?"_

"Very soon."

_"I'll get that champagne on ice."_

"Roses too?"

_"Of course."_

"Rick?"

_"Yes?"_

"I love you."

_"I love you too. Now hurry, before my motor goes into overdrive."_

She laughed and hung up.

* * *

At the loft she paused outside the door, remembering the last time, when she came back from DC with a badge. Different badge, same person. He was waiting then, and he was waiting now. Only something had changed, and it wasn't just that she was back to stay.

She took the ring from her pocket and looked at it, wishing she hadn't told Castle that it was handcuffs. It hurt him, and while it was true she'd felt like that, she knew now that he hadn't meant it that way at all. He really would have followed her to Washington, being there whenever she needed him.

Besides, it _was _a beautiful ring. And until she said _I do_ that's all it was. Still …

With a smile she slipped it onto her finger and went inside.

* * *

**A.N.:** So that's it! I am about 100% positive that this isn't how AWM intends things to play out, but it was fun making it work! If you have read this and enjoyed it, I would love to hear your comments. And if you have, thank you so much!


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